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ABRAHAM LINCOLN 



THE TYPE OF 



American Genius 



HISTORICAL ROMANCE, 



RUFUS BLANCHARD. 



/ft/??K 



WHEATON: 
R. BLANCHARD & CO. 

1882. 



5^3 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year r88i 

By RUFUS ELANCHARD, 

in the Office of the Librarian at Washington. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Among the first forms of written literature poe- 
try was to be found. Why not ? It is the measure 
of human emotions. It searches the heart and 
brings to lio-ht those subtle forces that make nations 
spring into existence and rise in grandeur. It is 
the propelling force that accumulates and concen- 
trates power, and vitalizes this power into active 
use for universal good, and these were the first 
ambitions of man. 

Nations'go into decadence plethoric with physi- 
cal wealth, but impoverished in the generous senti- 
ment of which poetry is the inspiration ; for they 
are like a body without a soul, — impotent to econo- 
mize their own strength and make it harmonize 
with the general welfare necessary to their preser- 
vation. 

The man whose sphere of influence is limited 
within the range of his immediate associations, may 
be measured in intellectual capacity by comparison 
with those who lived in his own time ; but he who 
has left his impress on the age in which he lived, 
there to stand as an index of its genius, or as a 
gauge mark of human progress, must be measured 



4 INTRODUC TION. 

from the domestic and religious evolutions of the 
world's history, for these called him into being even 
from the mystic records of the past, as their force 
accumulated, to quicken national passions into the 
issues which he turns to a good account, when thrust 
into their arena, as a salutary measure for the state. 

Such was Abraham Lincoln. The virtues of the 
American pioneer, nurtured into a ripe growth by 
his early training, were his inheritance by birth. 
This inheritance blended with the element drawn 
from the nursery of New England as it found its 
way to the border; and the two made his full 
rounded-up character, composed of the most pre- 
cious materials that old and new states afforded. 

Only an ideal picture can verify this, because it 
sprang from the unwritten law which transcends 
the forum, the bench and the sword ; and its depth 
must be measured through the passions and am- 
bitions that constitute the type of American genius. 
What is this type ? It is the mental force, the con- 
science, the destiny of the nation ; and these begin 
their growth in the cradle and refine into maturity ; 
not in the sunshine of flattery, not in the pleni- 
tude of luxury, but often from beneath the clouds 
of grief and adversity. Here grows the modest 
germ of power destined to direct the nation when 
a vital issue is thrust upon it, which makes it neces- 
sary to bring true merit to the front. 

America, in her course along the highways of 
time, has passed through this fire safely under the 
guidance of Abraham Lincoln, whose keen and 



IN TROD UC TION. 



facile sense gathered force to it from the tribunal 
of its best thoughts. Let us lift the veil from off 
the dress parade of jurisprudence and see these 
thoughts that constitute " the power behind the 
throne " — where they came from, and how they rose 
into prominence, timely and salutary in the hour 
of need. 

Of the characters introduced in the work to rep- 
resent these waves of thought as they rolled over 
the body politic, two stand prominent, the old man 
and Permilla. These characters are drawn from 
the best elements of every-day life, and are the in- 
carnation of its virtues as they refined into exem- 
plary models. Through their inspirations the end 
is reached, as will be seen in the following pages. 



PROLOGUE. 

A thought upon the stream of time is cast, 
And floating on along its mystic shore 
With gathering force as centuries are past, 
It bears the fruit of a^es gone before. 

This is the imaged temple of the mind 

Of universal man, with science fraught ; 

The great inheritance to him consigned 

By Time's unfolding scroll before him brought. 

As late along its ever flowing stream 
Across the ocean's main a nation grew ; 
Under the genius of a new regime 
It raised the flae of freedom born anew. 



s 



And justice crowned the infant nation's brow 
With laurels from the forum and the field ; 
While nature's gifts with plenteousness endow 
Its fields of harvest with a golden yield. 

But later still, when freedom's sacred name 
Was tarnished by a tyrannous decree, 
Its living fires kindled to a flame ; 
And blood and carnage held a revelry. 

See now the son of Inspiration rise 
Amidst the tide of battle's angry strife, 
While grateful shouts of triumph rend the skies 
Over the nation's renovated life ! 



PROLOGUE. 

He was the type and genius of his age, 
Reared in the school of bounteous nature's lore, — 
The ruler, hero, counselor and sage, 
Whose honor to the mantle which he bore 

Grew through the training of the nation's heart 
Since first its councils in the forum ruled, 
Incarnate in the love that shares its part, 
In public virtue from the cradle schooled. 

No vain pretensions faltered on his tongue 
Beneath a subtle implication hid, 
But jocund na'iveness on his accents hung 
Consistent with the actions which he did. 

The monument that rises o'er his grave, 
To freedom's cause an everlasting shrine, 
Shall memorize the sentiment that gave 
The law that's written by a hand divine. 

As future time uncoils her endless chain, 
And generations fall beneath the sod, 
Immortally his words shall live again 
Like sacred echoes from the voice of God. 



CANTO I. 



Concealed in nature's close recluse, 
A goose-quill wooes the yielding Muse ; 
Twin offspring bless the wedded pair, 
And tuneful numbers fill the air. 

Visions of life before the eye 
Dance like a Nymph and vanish by 
Glowing and o-limmerincr like a flash 
As onward in their flight they dash. 

Of imagery the pantomime, 
The inward view of man's design, 
Unseen except the veil behind 
That shadows every human mind. 

Now pray, dear Muse, stray up time's stream, 
And from the past let visions gleam, 
And with your song inspire the quill ; 
The obedient Muse replied — " I will." 

From the old tombs she sought the Gnome 
Who dallies round where muses roam, 
And from the specter took a cast 
Preserved by shadows of the past. 

Then spread her wings and cleft the blue, 

And into mortal sense she flew ; 

The light of ages streaked the van 

As through the quill the Muse began : — 



10 THE BOOK OF FATE. 

Four centuries past a virgin world unknown, 
Like beauteous statues in a rough hewn stone, 
In solemn silence slumbered all alone. 

No paleface hears the sound when thunders roar, 

No fields revive when genial showers pour, 

No ship is wrecked when tempests lash the shore. 

The crickets sing, but not beneath the hearth, 
The little birds send forth their songs of mirth 
As if they held the land by right of birth. 

No ax resounds within the forests green, 
No humming mill is heard or cottage seen, 
No moving ships upon the lakes serene. 

In solemn silence stand the lofty trees 

Whose towering tops wave gently in the breeze — ■ 

Support the eagle's nest and house the bees. 

Unnumbered autumns had profusely spread 

Beneath their mottled shades a leafy bed, 

And streams unnumbered through their mazes led. 

The haughty savage plumes his scalp-lock here 
Unconscious still of danger or of fear, 
While on the chase he kills the flying deer. 

E'en here within a savage breast is shown 
Naive reverence for a deity unknown, 
Except through nature's mystic book alone. 

The ocean was a solitary tide ; — 

A pathless wilderness ; — unknown — untried ; — 

In silent grandeur hid and mystified. 

The Book of Fate now coming to the light — 
As time its pages open to our sight — 
Reveals a nation rising in her might. 

Some wise men in the East in times gone by, 
Had read the secrets of the starry sky, — 



THE INDEX STAR. 11 

Revealed the zodiac signs and marked the spheres 
Of planets in their ever rolling years. 

High in the heavens there stood an index star, — 

The nucleus of the firmament afar, — • 

A light to mark the center of the pole 

Round which the heavenly bodies seem to roll ; — 

A light to guide the mariner o'er the seas 

Beyond the pillars of old Hercules. 

While kings and princes in that chivalric age 

Wasted their strength in battle's venemous rage 

To fight for dogmas, which have long ago 

Been banished from the lists of earthly woe. 

Under the guidance of this central star, 
Aspiring Genius mounts the ocean's crest 
And carves his name where living glories are, 
As he unveils the treasures of the West. 

And when the fifteenth century died away, 
Resplendent glory crowned her twilight gray ; 
New fields for science now are brought to light 
And up, ambition quickens at the sight, — 

Old superstitions bow before the fate 
Of empires rising in the wave-bound world 
Beyond the reach of bigotry and hate, 
Where freedom's banner is to be unfurled 
Amidst the wilds majestic o'er the seas, — 
The ocean's balance ; — the antipodes^ 
Of the old orient, whose dates disclaim 
The late chronology of the christian name. 

Now for the West the adventurous sail is spread 
By Spaniards, French and sturdy English led. 
The Spaniards, in their search for golden sands, 
Ransack the temples made by Aztec hands, 
And scour each coast along the virgin shore, 
Insatiable with greed to gather more. 



12 THE SAVAGE. 

Up the deep streams the Frenchmen force their way 

With swords and crosses joined in one array, 

To win with one alone, or both combined, 

The land that hitherto had been a blind 

Expanse entombed in mystery ; — 

A world of wanton waste unknown to history. 

Across the ocean's breast the English bore 

The rights of Magna Charta, and the lore 

Of generations in the service spent 

In learning science on the continent. 

Through many an ambushed path and bloody plain, 

They penetrate the wilderness domain, 

Spread out beneath a canopy of green, 

Where shining lakes and rivers intervene. 

The conquered savage breathes a hopeful prayer 

To the great Spirit whose protecting care 

Has ever watched him from that " equal sky 

To which his dog shall bear him company." 

But now in vain he plights the sacrifice, 

In vain he fights, in vain he prays and dies. 

Nor leaves behind a monument to tell 

How on the battle field he bravely fell. 

His conquerors the only history write 

How he was vanquished in the unequal fight. 

Religion, law and science take the place 

Inherited from his departed race. 

In science all the world at once agree ; 

For in its sunny fields no mystery 

Is hidden from the analyzing mind ; — 

Its range is free, its research unconfined 

As through the plenitude of boundless space 

It measures out each planet in its place. 

Not so with law or with religious lore, 

Tis true they both one common God adore, 



CELESTIAL COUNCIL. 13 

This nature teaches as her great command 
From her own book which all can understand. 
But how this God to man reveals his will, 
Or how we may his just designs fulfill, 
These are the problems that diversify 
And oft perplex our faith for reasons why 
That this or that should measure out the love 
That's due from man below to God above. 

There is a measure in a spiritual sense 
To mortal wealth in just benevolence ; 
Not always he who makes the ready prayer, 
Weighed in this sense, can die a millionaire, — 
But those whose charities are broad and sweet ; 
Who walk the narrow way with willing feet ; 
Who live and breathe not for themselves alone 
Like hermits to the love of man unknown. 

These are the millionaires who cross the stream 
And carry with them to the new regime, 
Securely, to that land of nobler gains, 
The adornments which a spotless life maintains. 
Their souls in heaven take the highest place, 
And gather nearest to the Throne of Grace ; 
Their* presence still we feel while on our way, 
To guide our footsteps lest we go astray. 

When the new world was shown to mortal eyes, 
And barbarism had paid its sacrifice, 
A Council then was held in heavenly space, 
To turn the ambition of the human race 
To nobler fields of culture and of weal, 
Which science might explore or art reveal. 
To this great end the angels with the Muse 
Met with these spirits to unseal their views. 

Beyond the reach of telescopic view 
The spectral delegates together flew, 



14 THE ISSUE. 

Nor tarried till they reached the distant spheres, 

Where comets dance to balance the arrears 

In equilibrium lost in sun or star, 

Lest from its orbit it should go ajar. 

Here in the far-off realms of space untold, 

Enveloped in a cloud of vapored gold, 

These guardian angels of our tiny earth 

Sat in grave council o'er a nation's birth. 

In the broad wilds between two oceans' foam, 

Where wandering: exiles there mio;ht find a home — 

And leave behind the tyrannous refrain 

That rankles through the inquisition's chain, 

And cringes in the shadow of a rod 

Raised o'er the conscience in the name of God. 

The rival nations represented there 

Were the three powers of England, Spain and 

France, 
Whose spiritual delegates with each a prayer 
Set up their varied claims in suppliance 
Before the majesty of Heaven's decree 
That holds the world within its destiny. 
The issue hung not on imposing power 
That rides tumultuous with the moving tide, 
Nor with the servile voices of the hour 
To witless brains and clannish rights allied, 
Shouting along the paths of by-gone fame 
In quest of honor through an empty name ; — 
These are the vanities that mortals tempt, 
But from which Heavenly Councils are exempt. 

Oh ! rulers of the nations, bond or free, 
If from your eyes the scales of time could fall, 
And into Heavenly Councils you could see 
The compensating force that offsets all 
The evil deeds and selfish aims of man, 
In all the ages since the world began, 



THE OLD MAN. 15 

With circumspection you would wear the crown, 
And through the ends of justice seek renown. 
Where is the plighted faith your lips have sworn, 
And where the laurels which your crowns have worn? 
Forgotten — vanished with the passing hour, 
That measured out the tenure of your power ; 
While in some humble tenant of the earth, 
Unknown to fame, — untitled from his birth, — 
There rises in the distance from afar, 
Resplendent in the heavens, a shining star, 
The nation's hope of freedom to fulfill, 
Obedient to the people's earnest will. 

America, this man is yours to be 
According to the will of Heaven's decree, 
Recorded when the angels first began 
To write the good and bad of fickle man ; 
And when the bad so far transcends the good 
That vice alone can stand where virtue stood. — 
Then revolution in her wanton power 
Uplifts her arm in vengeance to devour 
What jurisprudence in her vain pretense 
Has tried to substitute for common sense. 

And now a moral hero let us find, 

Who weighs in even scales with vision blind. 

There was an artist strong of purpose, 

Eccentric, faithful, loving and beloved 

By all who live and grow 

In sweet affection's ways. 

He lived, as artists often do, 

In simple habitudes. 

His board was frugal, and desire 

Knocked ever at his door 

Before supply was ushered in. 

He never ate till hunger bade, 

Nor rested until weariness did plead. 



16 THE OLD MAN. 

His simple cottage was adorned 

Outside by nature's hand ; 

Inside with easel, pallet, brush, 

And canvas yet unfinished, 

With queer devices gleaming o'er it, 

Personifying deepest hate, 

Revenge and desperate aims. 

And all the passionate thrills 

Which swell the human breast, 

And all the holy thoughts 

That devotees could think, 

And all the sentiment 

That sweet platonic love could feel 

When the young heart is in its toils, — 

These were the toys he played with 

On the canvas. 

What to him were wealth, 

Position high, or fame ? 

He had a silent charm 

Which could o'ertop them all. 

His ready stroke could stamp 

A human face with guilt and shame ; 

And woe betide the potentate 

Whose faithless, wayward rule 

Called forth his caricaturing 

In his quizzing moods. 

He had a daughter young and beauteous 

She was his pride, his inspiration ; 

Nor his alone — she won all hearts, 

While yet so young, so kind, so artless 

And obedient to her sire. 

Wealth played the hopeless lover 

At her feet, but naught availed. 

" None but an artist 

Shall my daughter wed," 

Said the old man ; 



THE OLD MAN. 17 

But one there was whose passionate heart 

Impelled him on to woo. 

What were a few years' toil to him 

To win so sweet a prize ? 

He bade the girl a languishing good-bye. 

A stranger in a distant land, 

Dead to the world and its allurements, 

To everything but art and love, 

He studied at the easel; 

Whilom the years are spent, 

And now, returned again, 

He seeks the imaged place 

With faltering steps, as if each one 

Were measured by decades of thought, 

In entities of moments. 

He enters in * * * * * 

Her smiles dispel his doubts; 

But cruel fears arise. 

What if the old man should captious be 

And doom me back to serve a^ain, 

As Jacob served a second time for Rachel? 

Unconscious what he did 

While in these pensive moods, 

He paints a fly upon the household picture. 

'Twas just a little silly fly 

With gossamer wines. 

And now our Romeo hies himself away 

And leaves his Juliet alone upon the balcony. 

She watched her sire when he returned, 

And as he drew his handkerchief 

To brush away the fly, she says : 

" Why pa, that's not a fly, 

It's just a bit of ivory-black 

That William put upon the scene. 

Is he an artist, pa ?" 

Next came a priest ; — 

2 



18 THE TRANSITION. 

And William took away the girl, 
With tender parting from her sire, — 
Venerable with a^e and honor's strong embrace. 

Night came, and like a canvas dark and wide 
The heavens were opened to the old man's eyes, 
And in the distance dimly he descried 
A golden cloud in mystic form arise. 

The gentle spirits only come at night, 
When nature's busy toils are hushed to rest, 
And quietude and silence both invite, 
Of all the soul's desires, the loveliest. 

And in the cloud the spirit forms were seen 
In pensive humors on the Book of Fate; 
While in their midst sat the Celestial Queen 
Receiving messages of earthly state. 

Now o'er the old man's couch sweet slumbers crept. 

A youthful angel hovered o'er his bed 

And touched the vital chord, to intercept 

The stream of life that his frail body fed. 

Then with his soul immortal flew away, 

And left behind its tenement of clay. 

Swift as electric flashes through the air 
Together flew the adolescent pair, 
And, in an instant, reached the Heavenly gate 
Where sat the Council on the coming state; 
When ushered in before their wondering eyes, 
The earth in all its shame and glory lies. 

The book of records then was brought to view 

Of dead and living nations, old and new ; 

Of those who flourished ere the time-worn bed 

Of the historic Nile its waters led 

Across the Egyptian plain of marshy strands, 

And drained its interval of fertile lands 



RECORDS. 



19 



On which the venerable Cheops rose, 
The sepulcher where ancient kings repose. 

And in this book the Arabians held a place 

Among the records of the human racef 

For revelations in the starry spheres 

Where worlds unnumbered circle out their years 

And for the invention of the digits nine 

A living monument of arts design; 

OJ science proud, the everlasting key 

With which to lift its veil of mystery. 

Old Zoroaster crowns his age with light 
From nature's book revealed to mortal sight 
Through sage philosophy, which lived and grew 
™Ji * er C y rus ' [t revived anew, 
When Babylon fell before its vengeful sword 
According to the ancient prophet's word. 

Confucius' name stood bold upon the pao- e 
A monument of a benignant age, 
Of which there still remains a living trace 
Among the dusky children of his race. 

Next, came the Grecian records : amplified 
With every virtue to the world allied. 
Here hallowed pages of the book unroll 
1 he works of Plato on the immortal soul ■ 

And Aristotle's ethics : wise, profound 
Ihroughout the learned world alike renowned- 

And Socrates, the old philosopher, 

Whose moral code unchallenged we prefer 
To imitations of his native sense, 

In borrowed forms of far-fetched 'eloquence. 

The records of that learned but simple ao- e 

w? ent a n ° ble P icture on time's pao- e 

When garnered in the storehouse of the mind 

1 o serve the common wants of all mankind— 



20 THE DECREE. 

A link to bind the present to the past, 
Through many an age of revolution cast. 

From here across the Adriatic flew 
The science which the Grecians only knew, 
The archives of imperial Rome to grace 
With monuments which time can ne'er efface. 

While marble shafts may crumble and decay, 
And whispering winds may blow their dust away — 
Thoughts are the only things that ever live ; — 
The best inheritance that nations give ; 
And twice and thrice immortal is the soul 
Of him whose thoughts shall live as ages roll. 

A great hiatus now o'erwhelmed the world 
That art and science into ruin hurled, 
When fell imperial Rome before the tide 
Of hardy northmen vengefully allied, 
And savage Goths and Vandals revel where 
Great Caesar sat in the imperial chair. 

But in the custody of time's recoil, 

That oft revives what barbarous hands despoil, 

The learning of the world was tided through 

The aees dark, ao-ain to live anew ; 

And from the glorious records of the past 

The shadows of the future may be cast. 

The Heavenly Council now in silence hung, 
When spoke an angel's voice with silvery tongue, 
Then loud hosannas through the council ran 
As she from God revealed his destined plan. 

" Not to ambitious England, France or Spain 
Shall be vouchsafed the country o'er the main, 
But a new flag in glory shall arise, 
Ornate with emblems from the starry skies ; 



CONS EC R A TION. 2 1 

As long as justice nestles in its fold, 

In triumph it shall stand through time untold. 

" From this inheritance of nations past 
Select your subjects when the ' die is cast;' 
Then on the wild and fallow western plain 
Shall Greece and Rome revive and live again. 

" The willing spirits sitting at your feet 
Await your orders, now the plans complete. 
They are the choicest ever yet supplied 
As messengers to Heaven and earth allied. 
/Let them be guardians of each infant mind 
'That by prophetic birth has been designed 
The Independence of the States United 
To consecrate and swear to freedom plighted." 

Thus spoke the voice of the Celestial Queen 
When, round her gathered with obedient mien, 
The guardian spirits which her new decree 
Had chosen for the nation yet to be. 

As twigs are bent and stately trees inclined, 
They are to gently mould the rising mind 
From childhood to the forum or the field, 
The truth to succor, or the sword to wield. 

To each, she gives a separate place to fill, 

According to the genius of his will ; 

For Heaven is not a smooth and even plain, 

Where song and praise and prayer forever reign 

In one unvaried stream of harmony, 

With nothing more to do than hear and see ; 

But endless is its field that doth invite 

From sphere to sphere the busy angels' flight, 

To all the acts of man in heaven rehearse 

Throughout the mazes of the universe. 



22 THE GUARDIAN. 

Last of the whole she came to the old man, 
Whose life in Heaven now had just began. 
"Ah !" cries the angel with celestial glance, 
"Your soul on earth in Heaven has made advance. 

" Before again to earth you are to stray, 
We'll pilot you along the milky way, 
Through paradise, where shines the sacred light 
That earthly wrongs will compensate with right. 

"A future crisis destined to arise, 

Will raise an altar for a sacrifice ; 

When sanguine passions swell the rising tide, 

And human rights in madness are defied, 

In the new nation of our guardian care, 

Then, in your faith will be intrusted there 

The just refrain that spreads its powerful charm 

And timelv vengeance brings to freedom's arm, 

Protected by your ever ready hand 

Through all the paths that Heaven for you hath 

planned. 
And when again to earth you shall descend, 
Let inspiration there your cause defend. 

" The source from whence the noblest virtues rise 
Within the lowly vale of wisdom lies. 
Train up a youth this measure to fulfill, 
Ordained in just accord with Heaven's will. 

" Select him from this sphere of modest range, 
And watch his growing mind through every change 
From childhood to the earnest man of thought, 
In all the wisdom of the nation taught, 
From every voice that speaks its honest will 
The ends of even justice to fulfill. 
Exempt from vain pretension he must be, 
With keen discretion armed, and charity, 



THE COUNCIL ENDED. 23 

" To weigh in equal scales the substance shown, 

By which the ends of justice may be known. 

From every mouth by advocacy tried, 

With equal voice from each contending side, 

With no mysterious fallacies distraught, 

Or prestige through pretended wisdom brought. 

" If feeble man transcends this just demand 
The penalty will come through Heaven's hand." 

The angel now dismissed the court with grace, 
And all the Council vanished into space ; 
Each to his sphere amidst the starry skies, 
Where world on world along its orbit flies. 



CANTO II. 

The spirits now to earth retire, 
To kindle high the glowing fire 
That lit the path to liberty 
/Along New England's emerald lea, 
And consecrate the infant mind 
•To Freedom's love and law combined, 
And in the nursery plant a charm 
To fortify the nation's arm. 

Here dreamy maidens' thoughts repose ; 
Here youthful love with radiance glows ; 
Here shines the light of infant years, 
Its fulsome joys, its fleeting tears ; 
And here the Muse's rustic lays 
Sing of the early school-boy days — 
The little brooks that crossed the maize, 
And trickled down its shadowed ways 
In wooded valleys, interlined 
With hanging rocks, where ivy twined 
Its tendrils round the mosses gray 
In variegated drapery; 
The heather green, the shady fen, 
The chilly cave, the rugged glen, 
The squirrels and the little birds, 
The sheep, and lambs, and lowing herds, 
The moving winds that shook the trees 
And made them pay their autumn fees 
In rich abundance scattered round 
Along the crispy autumn ground ; 



24 



NEW ENGLAND. 25 

The ripened corn in yellow ear — 
Glad harvest of the golden year ; 
The bulky crops of meadows green 
Which 'twixt the uplands intervene, 
The orchard and the cider mill 
And press, which did the juice distill, 
The reddish stream, the hollow straw 
With which the flowing wine to draw, 
The wintry snow, the coasting sled, 
Which down the hill so swiftly sped, 
The little mimic battle fray, 
Where snowballs held the foe at bay, 
The icy flight on wings of steel, 
With which is shod the limber heel, 
The mountain and the streams that glide 
Adown her steep and rugged side, 
Descending through the cool ravine, 
Enveloped in the evergreen, 
Or tumbling o'er the rocky gray 
And sending back a silvery spray ; 
The wild wind's voice of minstrelsy 
While whispering from tree to tree, 
Or chiming through the cragged lea 
And roaring o'er the crested sea, 
Or whirling through the heavens, whence 
The clouds are hung in negligence 
O'er cottages and fields asdow, 
Where hill or mountain side inclines, 
Where solemn churches, white as snow, 
Stand sentinels among the pines. 

Perhaps some stubborn creeds they taught 

With unrelenting rhetoric ; 

But whether this was so or not, — 

Forgetfulness is sure and quick, 

When prompt recoils the burdened brain, 

To modify an overstrain. 



26 INDEPENDENCE. 

And strong of frame and purpose grew 
New England lads and lasses too : 
Like germ-cells planted in the earth 
To grow into a nation's birth 
According to the will of Heaven, 
In its majestic Council given. 

And when the mighty issue came 
That made the fires of freedom flame, 
Then Plymouth Rock attuned the lyre 
That set the nation's heart on fire, 
And " Freedom " was the battle-cry 
That cast the coming nation's die. 

When Muses into history go, 
They skip the crimsoned fields of strife, 
Which interlude the progress slow 
Of hisfher aims in social life. 

So much dead weight and useless gear 
Would lumber up the poet's page ; 
And harsh the soncr would strike the ear 
Attuned to battle's noisy rage. 

No ! — rather let the crlorious end 
That follows in the train of war, 
By dreamy inspiration penned 
Or visionary metaphor. 

Infuse the song with softer strains 
Than dying groans on battle-plains. 

The cause is won, no matter how, — 
As far as Muses care to see ; 
The sword is beat into the plow, 
And spears are made to prune the tree; 

And sweeter now it is to toil 
When independence crowns the soil. 



ALFRED AND GRACE. 27 

The plowboy tills the rugged field, 

The bleating flocks their fleeces yield ; 

The product of the humming wheel 

Is measured on the whirling reel, 

And silence through the household spreads* 

While the fair spinner counts the threads. 

The rattling loom the matron plies, 
While right and left the shuttle flies. 
By shifting reeds the thread is twilled 
With which the web is slowly filled. 

Beyond the stream that turned the mill, 
The school-house stood on yonder hill, 
To which a circling footpath led, 
That boys and girls together tread, — 
Along the margin of the brook, 
Where anglers drop the baited hook ; 
And through the stony pastures gray, 
With moss-clad hassocks on the way, 
And interspersed with wintergreen, 
The mosses' fuzzy tops between, 
While ferns and leaves of silvery hue 
Along the children's roadside grew. 

Grace was a child but seven years old. 
Her hair was colored almost gold, — 
And hung in many a velvet fold. 

With bluish ribbons neatly tied, 
Or curled above her forehead wide 
In cowlicks, one on either side. 

* In the very early days of domestic manufacture of cloth, the yarn 
was taken from the wheel spindle on a hand reel. This was a wooden 
tool two feet long, with a cross-bar on each end, the two bars being at 
right angles with each other. Forty revolutions of the wheel made one 
knot, the requisite length for the warp of a web of cloth. It was a 
dextrous feat to do the reeling, and a careful one ; as any miscount in the 
number of threads would make trouble in laving out the web- 



28 ALFRED AND GRACE. 

Her dimpled cheeks were faintly stained 
With mottlings like the lilies grained, 
Which nature's varied hand had trained. 

While going to the school one day, 
Behind she lingered on the way 
To pick the flowers of early May. 

When far ahead as she could see, 

Her playmates in their thoughtless glee 

Were passing on. — " Why, stop for me !"- 

In childish confidence she cried. 
When, all but one, they quickly hide 
Behind the trees the path beside. 

But Alfred, better known as " Fred," 
With nimble footstep backward sped, 
And soothed her fancied lonesome dread 

With honied words of boyish cheer, 
That compensate for grief or fear, 
And turn aside the childish tear. 

Years passed along : — and Alfred grew 
To manly strength and stature too — 
In theory and practice true. 

And Gracie, — what a witching child ! 
Mischievous, frolicsome and wild, 
From older cares her youth beguiled. 

No more could Alfred lead her o'er 
Across the stream as oft before, 
Bridged with a log from shore to shore :- 

For, springing from his hand, she flew 

Alone across the pearly blue 

With speed to keep her balance true. 



ALFRED AND GRACE. 29 

This inward vexed the gallant boy, 
To think that Grace should be so coy 
To temper smiles with such alloy. 

Yet, brimming in his heart, there preyed 
A tender passion for the maid, 
Which face and eyes had oft betrayed. 

Without the guidance f a chart 

That teaches how to win the heart, — 

As mariners are taught to sail 

And clear the coast when comes a gale. 

Armed with her naive simplicity, 

From preconcerted dalliance free, 

Grace won all hearts, both old and young, 

And every one her praises sung. 

For, when sweet beauty crowns the face, 
Transcendent is the winning grace 
That through its flowery path will shine 
Apparently without design. 

Just as the pearly dew is seen 
Most on the leaves of brightest green, — 
So love and sympathy will twine 
Around the best and sweetest shrine 
Where rests a fond and loving heart 
That never felt an envious smart. 

'Twas evening, when the sunny rays 
Had vanished in the summer haze, 
That Grace and Alfred, arm in arm, 
Were walking o'er the homestead farm. 

What if the sun was out of sight ? — 
The moon and stars reflect his light 
As much as lovers care to see 
In tender passion's revelry. 



30 ALFRED AND GRACE. 

Their circling way through shadows led, 
By piney foliage canopied, 
Through which the whispering breezes sung 
On tuneful harps by nature strung. 

The soft refrain of kindling love 
That lifts the swelling heart above, 
The hermitage of selfish grains 
That bind the soul with menial chains 
And loads the heart with Cupid's spoils, 
The heritage of lovelit toils. 

Though Alfred was a novice yet 

In worldly cares, by wiles beset, 

Nobility within his soul 

Had stamped him on a hero's roll ; 

And Cupid's fires within his breast 

Could never make his honor rest 

Unmingled with the love devout 

That burned within and flowed without. 

In love's and honor's strong embrace 

He rested his propitious case: — 

"Dear Gracie," said the impassioned boy, 

In tones which lovers true employ, 

" Our childish spring is past till May 
Together on life's blithesome way, 
And must we from each other stray 
Through summer's toils from day to day? — 

" Or, through life's golden harvest trace, 
By separate paths, our resting place, 
Till winter's touch on either face 
Shall stamp it with his last embrace ? 

" The toils of twenty summers past 
Have o'er my head their shadows cast. 
Now, manhood's pith is in my veins, 
These muscular hands must take the reins ; 



ALFRED AND GRACE. 31 

And, westward, toward the setting sun, 
My start in life shall be begun. 

" To-morrow is the eventful day 
When first from home my feet shall stray ; 
Some years may roll time's endless chain 
Ere you and I shall meet again. 

"And when the cares of life shall rest 
Within my young untutored breast, 
A place is still reserved for thee 
Sacred to my first memory. 

"And now, dear Gracie, we must part 
Without a word to bind the heart; — 
Without a vow to wedlock plighted, 
Lest comes a wrono- that ne'er is righted. 

" But in that silent charm we'll rest 
That reioms within each faithful breast 
To quicken there the crimson flow 
That in each faithful heart shall glow." 

Her father's gate they slowly gain ; — 
Some lingering whispers still remain 
To fill the measure of the heart 
Ere sentimental lovers part. 



CANTO III. 

The scene of this canto begins on the Merrimac river, some miles 
above Tyngsborough, Massachusetts, from whence a line of stages then 
ran westward through the Mohawk Valley, in the state of New York, 
and thence to the headwaters of the Allegheny river just over the Penn- 
sylvania line. 

In the land of the Pilgrims no happier age 

Was ever recorded on history's page, 

Than the time when the stage-coach enlivened the 

street 
With all of its paraphernalia complete. 

And when we look back to that old-fashioned time, 
Preserved in our memory and treasured in rhyme, 
How we sigh for the social amenities then 
That survived through that age but can ne'er live 
again ! 

When the people grew gray in the home of their 

birth, 
In the fullness of joy and the measure of mirth. 
Contented in mind in their fortunate lot, 
Without the excesses by luxury brought. 

When the old institutions of New England's time 
Were gathering strength in their glory and prime — 
The pudding and beans, and the " Rye Indian " 

bread, 
The cider and apples so sparkling and red. 

The thanksgiving day, when the summer had ceased, 
And the goslin was roasted and set for a feast 



THE OLD STAGE COACH. 33 

For two generations of children away — 
Returned to their home to be jolly and gay. 

Away with your steamboats and railroads! — away 
With your mates and your captains accoutered in 

gray, 
And your railroad conductors with lanterns and 

punches, 
And ten-minute stations for whisky and lunches ! 

There is more food for poetry, in the old stage 
That rolled through the street in our heroic age 
With a flash and a dash and a rollicking ring 
As it comes and it goes like a bird on the wing. 

It bustles the town as it rattles along, 

As the man in the box cuts the air with his thong, 

And the high mettled steeds raise their curveting 

necks' 
Till the driver is forced to resort to the brakes. 

As on with a surplus of power unspent, 
Over hill and through valley the diligence went 
Careening and swinging and rolling away 
From the dawn of the morning till evening gray. 

The driver 's no tool, with a bell by his side 
To ring the alarm when he's paid for a ride ; 
The " beaver is tipped" as he vanishes by 
By the rich and the poor and the lowly and high. 

When the diligence passes, why every one looks; — 
The children at school take their eyes from their 

books, 
The carpenter leans on his long wooden rule, 
The rod of the smith takes a second to cool, — 

While the horse he is shoeing starts up with a snuff, 
And the rickety bellows blows out a long puff 
3 



34 THE OLD STAGE COACH. 

As the boy at its lever looks up with a stare, 
And the tire he's blowing continues to glare. 

The shears of the tinker go down with a click, 
While his soldering-iron lavs flat on the brick ; 
And the cobbler peeps over the boot on the tree 
As he straps his dull knile on his leather-capped 
knee. 

But this motionless tableau no longer will last 
When the coach with its rumbling clatter is past. 
Inside of this vehicle Alfred is seated, 
Set out for the West with his outfit completed. 

Now miles on miles of distance vanish past, 
And changing views dissolve before the sight 
Beneath the stately forest's shadow cast, 
Or gleaming from the fields of harvest white. 

Some pensive thoughts arose in Alfred's mind ; 
Nor is it strange that such should be the case 
When youth's warm heart is most to love inclined, — 
And aims of glory take a second place. 

Thus far his early life had smoothly run ; 
No cause for grief or fear had crossed his way ; 
With such propitious days the world begun, 
Why should his practiced feet be turned astray ? 

But yet in thoughtful turns above his years, 
The future opened wide before his eyes ; 
And many a mountain in his path appears, 
And many a blank — ere he might win the prize. 

While thus absorbed in silent reverie, 

His fellow travelers take a social turn — 

On "faith," and "works," and sacred prophecy, 

And all the doctrinal points that christians learn. 



THE OLD STAGE COACH. 35 

With nice distinctions on " free agency," 
" The eternal perseverance of the saints," — 
How, reconciled with God's foreknown decree, 
Our sins to " mortify " with just restraints. 

These themes discussed, the conversation turned 
On subjects less important ; — such as bore 
Direct relation to what now concerned 
Our "temporal good" this side of Canaan's shore. 

But yet the conversation ever ran 

In grooves not inconsistent with their creed; 

Tenacious always ere their tongues began, 

To scan the end to which their words might lead. 

More taciturn than any of the rest, 

With classic face cast in a deftly mould, 

Sat a young man who seemed to be possessed 

Of deeper thoughts than could in words be told. 

Yet penetrate the heart that's sensitive 
To magic inkling's of benevolence, 
Through inspirations that can only live 
In silent forces through a quickened sense. 

That he and Alfred should be ready friends, 
Was but as easy as the ferny coil, 
Warmed by the heat that coming summer sends, 
Pierces the leaf-mould of the matted soil. 

Both for the West had started on their way ; 
Behind them each had left a happy home, 
To seek a fortune in their youthful day 
In some propitious spot where they might roam. 

But fortune held a more enduring tie 

To bind their friendship in a strong embrace ; 

Hid in the ruling star of destiny 

That turns the fate of all the human race — 



36 THE OLD INN. 

A destiny that runs in subtle tides 
To flush the heart as with a magic touch, 
And still the future from its subjects hides 
Lest from its mystic page they learn too much :- 

For life would more than half its pleasures lose, 
If certainty should always gauge the flow 
Of all its gifts, the best to pick and choose, 
With nothing left for fortune to bestow. 

And the bright stars of hope and imagery, 
The sweetest consolations of the soul, 
Would never rise in life's unvaried sky, 
Or through its shining constellations roll. 

Within a spacious forest glade 

A fertile farm in quiet laid, 

Where pastures, meads and waving corn, 

The landscape of the heath adorn. 

Inside its cottage lived a pair 
Who daily bent the knee in prayer, 
Like loyal scions from a stock 
Descended from the Plymouth Rock. 

A playful flock of boys and girls, 
With cherry cheeks and silken curls, 
Were proofs of a prolific race 
That lived and grew about the place. 

From yonder hill the penstock bring; 
A flowing stream from living springs, 
Gathered within a sheltered quay 
Where speckled trout in frolic play. 

This is the inn of early days, 
Sung by the poet's rural lays. 
It had an emblematic sign 
Depended from a stately pine. 



THE OLD INN. 37 

One which the woodman's ax had spared, 
And to the winds its bosom bared, 
When, neath his strokes the forest fell, 
Where now the happy couple dwell. 

The signboard hummed a creaking tune, 
Discordant with the voice of June — 
More like December's angry rage, 
When howling winds the skies engage. 

But yet its whining notes invest 
The traveler's mind with thoughts of rest, 
When vanishes the light of day 
Dissolving in the twilight gray. 

And even his sagacious steed 
Bears on the bit with rising speed, 
And presses towards the country inn, 
Where welcome rest is found within. 

Soon as the evening shades appear 
The daily coach untackles here. 
The trunks are taken from the boot, 
The passengers their host salute. 

The prudent hostess shows her face, 
The guests to welcome to the place, 
And shed around a homelike air 
To all who are assembled there. 

With careful hands the cloth is spread, 
When seated all, the grace is said, 
Essential as a pious rite — 
A measure of a heart contrite. 

Go where you will, go far or near, 

You '11 find a ready rival here 

In epicurean skill and art, 

Where morbid taste can play no part. 



38 WILLIAM, JR. 

But if the measured rate of skill 

Is graded by eccentric will 

And not by nature's appetite, 

Then who can tell the wrong; from right ? 

The Ides of August now drew nigh, 
And eventide had veiled the sky, 
And closed the petals of the flowers 
From sunny rays in earlier hours. 

And all the feathered tribe were still, 
Except the lonesome whip-poor-will; 
There is a pathos in his song 
Repeated through the night, night long, 

As if the sympathetic bird 
Its silent shadows had preferred ; — 
As troubadours attune their lyres, 
When sober age to rest retires. 

Now Alfred, with his new made friend, 
Went forth the evening hour to spend. 
Why should not each to each reveal 
The secrets which they inward feel ? — 

The secrets which the eye could trace 
Reflected from each youthful face ? 
First William, Alfred's friend, begun, 
And thus his simple story run : — 

" My home was in a quiet little nook 
Inclining gently toward the eastern sky, 
And my first childish memories wander back 
To golden figures on my bedroom wall ; 
Where, from the distant forest's jagged tops, 
The sun arose and through the lattice shone. 
I was the oldest of the little brood 
That hung around our happy mother's knee, 
Or cheered our father with our boisterous play. 



WILLIAM, JR. 39 

He was an artist ; much to thought inclined, 
vVhen cloistered at the easel in his room, 
And there the children never ventured in, 
Except sometimes to sit in careless groups 
As figures for a landscape or a scene. 
The cottage walls with pictures rare were spread 
Of quaint designs and legendary rites. 

One had a fly reposing on the scale 

Of Justice, blindfold on the canvas shown. 

And when we tried to scare the fly away, 

Then "ma" would say: "Why,child,that's not afry — 

It's just a bit of ivory black 

That father (William) put upon the scene," — 

Then father smiled, and told us quizzing boys 
That we might, sometime, learn to paint" a fly ; — 
Or learn some other art to win a prize. 

Then there was grandpa's good old happy face, 
That father painted long and long ago. 
And how we wondered that his lustrous eyes 
Should seem to follow us where'er we went, 
As if the picture was a living face. 

This childish dalliance was a fleeting tide; — 
Soon manhood's strength began to'arm my frame, 
And life's grand drama opened deep and wide 
When boyhood's years had past and manhood came. 

Now, on its open sea my bark is steered ; 
Before me is an ocean's broad domain : 
The headlands on the stream of youth are cleared 
And never can be seen by me again. 

Ah ! childhood's sunny hours, adieu, adieu ! 
You'll only come again in happy dreams 
Again to fire my heart with life anew 
As transient vision back to childhood o-leams. 



40 WILLIAM, JR. 

The tenderest links that youth to childhood bind, 
Cling round the heart when love inspires the mind ; 
Bound by these silken toils I stand confessed, 
Securely sheltered in my youthful breast. 

Far, far away, my footsteps now shall roam 
To seek some favored spot to be my home. 
Ambition points toward the western wilds, 
Where generous nature with her bounty smiles. 

Here shall New England's sons and daughters live 

And to the rising state their virtues give, 

And ever cherish with paternal care 

The church and school-house planted safely there. 

I'll lead the way in this propitious scheme 
To bring into the West the new regime ; 
'Twill bring- a romance to our wedded life 
When my affianced shall become my wife. 

Alfred responded to the confiding youth — 
Who lived to love, and loved to live the truth 
That from his face ingenuously shone, 
Though unexpressed, by silent language known. 

The two were more than common brothers now ; 
Their friendship needed not a binding vow : 
By sympathy it was forever sealed, 
As each to each their inner thoughts revealed. 

Thus reinforced the travelers went to rest, 
To dream of golden visions in the West. 
Perhaps they lived again the sweet good bye 
That comes in dreams as parting hours fly, 

And silent consolation always brings 
To cheer the heart when love from honor springs, 
Consistent with the sense of prudent thought 
That education to the mind has brought. 



THE MORNING START. 41 

The morning comes, and jocund with its dawn, 
The men and boys are on the dewy lawn, 
Each at his post, to feed the noisy swine, 
Or from the sheds to turn the lowing kine. 

The breakfast o'er, the nervy steeds they gear, 
The host and hostess at the door appear ; 
The travelers once more their seats regain, 
The driver mounts the box and takes the rein. 

Once more their journeys with the day begun 
With dancing shadows in the morning sun. 



CANTO IV. 



Eighteen miles from Erie, in Pennsylvania, close by the town of 
Waterford, is a small lake, which forms the head of French creek. This 
stream empties into the Allegheny river at the site of an old Indian town 
named Venango, about seventy-five miles above Pittsburg, at which 
place the Allegheny unitingwith the Monongahela river forms the Ohio. 
Along these waters grew into being the exciting causes of the French 
and Indian war in 1755. First, the French built Fort Presque Isle, where 
Erie now stands. Next they built Fort Le Bceuff, near the little lake at 
Waterford. Next, Fort Venango at the mouth of French creek. At 
this juncture George Washington, then a youth of twenty-one years, 
under orders from the governor of Virginia, suddenly appeared at Fort 
Le Bceuff on a mission to inform the French that the English claimed the 
country and in the name of the commonwealth of Virginia; he warned 
them out of it. The young ambassador was treated with tokens of 
respect, but was informed by the scholarly old French knight who held 
command that the matter must be referred to the Marquis DuQuesne, 
governor of Canada, by whose orders he held the country. Washington 
with his companions now returned to Virginia through the forests. This 
was late in the autumn of 1754. The next spring the Virginians com- 
menced building a fort where Pittsburg now stands, but were immediately 
driven away by a superior force of French and Indians. The French 
and Indian war soon followed. Its successful termination gave the entire 
country to the English. Sixteen years after its close the Americans 
declared themselves independent. Seven years of war followed, when 
they achieved their end, and a new flag arose into existence. Afterward, 
about from 1794 to 1S20, the little lake near Waterford again became 
conspicuous ; not for the trumpet summons to the battle-field, but for the 
starting point for immigrants to the West. Here and at other places 
were built flatboats, called arks, in which several families took passage 
together, floating down stream to some propitious place for a settlement 
along the Ohio river, and at its tributary waters. The scene of this 
canto begins here, and is continued down the stream to the Muskingum 
river, at the mouth of which a settlement was made in 17SS, which was 
the first American settlement northwest of the Ohio river. Fort Harmer 
was built at the mouth of the river to protect it from the Indians. 

Lo ! hoary monarch of the forest shades, 
What is the history of your old decades 
Since you wert but a tender seedling stalk ? 
Wert thou the firstling of the forest flock ? 
An acorn planted in the treeless ground 
Where now the fertile plains with trees abound. 

42 



THE NEW FLAG. 48 

What have you shadowed since your life began, 
As through the centuries of time it ran ? 
What saw you when the Aztec temples grew 
Where warmer skies distil the Heavenly dew? 
Did then the swarthy warrior take his rest 
Beneath the shadow of your towering crest ? 

Have Frenchmen ever tented by your side 
When to the Indian race they were allied, 
And on the war-path they together teamed 
With battle blades that through the forest gleamed? 

Did here the bright naivete of dusky hue 
Ere seal her nuptial vow to virtue true, 
And to her lover give her hand and heart 
Impressive with the forms of savage art ? 
Did here the French lieutenant woo a bride, 
To share her fortunes in the forest wide? 

Did Washington ere camp beneath your shade 
When to these wilds the mission he conveyed 
To warn away the French from this fair land 
To give the English sea-room to expand? 

How have these hopes that high ambition fed 
Into oblivion's gulf forever fled? 
The cross of red," and lilies,f both have flown 
And left the pathless wilderness alone. 

Another flae now rises into life 
Above the crimsoned fields of blood and strife 
Whose shining stars through fen and forest crleam — 
A nation's herald of her new regime. 

Its pioneers now come with ax and spade, 
The mysteries of the forest to invade ; — 

* The English flag. It bore a red cross as the ensign of St. George, 
j The French flag. 



44 THE PIONEERS. 

Alfred and William* join the leading van 
That gather here to execute their plan. 

An ark is built, and down the stream they glide, 
Borne on the bosom of the flowing tide; 
From wild to wild their circling way is led 
Through endless realms with virgin forest spread, 
Majestic in her wildness all alone, 
Sacred to nature's seal, unloosed, unknown. 

Onward, and onward still, from plain to plain 
In tortuous curves across the wooded main, 
Through which Venango'sf circling waters thread 
Their way along wild nature's clayey bed : — 

Now Allegheny's waters are in sight, 

That flow majestic through the shadowy light 

Of unremitting forests far and wide, 

Through which unnumbered rivers roll their tide 

From mountain, bluff, and valley clad with trees 

Unscarred by woodman's ax — in nature's ease. 

Fort Pitt J is past, and now the Ohio bears 
The vessel freighted with its household wares 
Along its rugged headlands bold and wild, 
With bluff on bluff precipitously piled. 

Each night the ark is moored the shore beside, 
Where naught is heard except the gurgling tide, 

* The name of Alfred's new companion. 

f What is now French creek was named Venango creek in the early 
day. It empties into the Allegheny river at the old Indian town of 
Venango. 

J The old fort built where Pittsburg now stands. It was first named 
Fort Du Quesne, but was changed to Fort Pitt after the English took 
possession of it in 1758, under Gen. Forbes, while the French and Indian 
war was at its height. The French blew up the old fort and fled down the 
Ohio to their settlement in southern Illinois. George Washington then 
held a command under Gen. Forbes, and led the advance in his army, 
which cut its way from Carlisle through the forests of western Penn- 
sylvania to take this old French seat of power, near which Braddock had 
been so terribly defeated three years before. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 45 

Or the wild owl, whose shrill and quavering cry 
The midnight silence breaks so pensively 
Amidst the voiceless solitudes around, 
Where only nature's amplitudes abound. • 

Muskingum's welcome headlands now are seen, 
Where fields of corn and forest intervene. 
Fort Harmer's walls here in the forests rise, 
Beneath the flag that freemen dearly prize. 
Waving a welcome in the wilderness 
Whose virgin soil their wandering footsteps press. 
Here is the distant home, — the promised land, — 
With room enough for genius to expand. 

Here rests the ark. Its mission now is done : — 
Alfred's and William's is but just begun :— 
Their cable 's cut, their bark 's before the wind, 
With home and friends and sweethearts left behind. 

But fortune has a path for them to tread, 

Though strewn with flowers through varied mazes 

led; 
Their lucky star reflects from friendly suns 
Light for their path, and thus the story runs : — 

A dingy cottage on the rack 
Stood by the tranquil Merrimac, 
Where witches were supposed to live 
To fright the weak and sensitive. 
Not very near the road it stood 
Amidst a lonesome neighborhood ; 
And bold the one who passed that way 
Except within the light of day ; 
For through the silent shades of ni^ht, 
Witches and goblins draped in white 
Descending through the mirky air 
In voiceless silence reveled there. 



46 THE RESCUE. 

A fearless man one night passed by, 
When in the house he heard a cry 
As if a nurseling had been there 
Without a mother's watchful care. 
In spite of ghosts and goblins, too, 
Into the house he quickly flew. 
Some flashes met his steady gaze, 
Like burning coals without a blaze, 
Scattered about the ghostly place 
O'er ceiling, wall and mouldering brace. 
The hero laughed at such a show 
Lit up by phosphorescent glow ; 
But next a little babe he saw 
Reposing on a bed of straw. 
He pressed the foundling to his breast, 
And hushed its lonely cries to rest ; 
Then, from that day, the little one 
Became his own adopted son. 

A hemlock thicket stood close by, 
From which the mother's watchful eye, 
While trembling with anxious fears ; 
Beheld the rescue through her tears, 
And flattering hope brings some relief 
To soothe a mother's parting grief. 

William, the senior, was the one 
Who rescued thus the infant son, 
And William junior was the child 
In blissful ignorance beguiled. 
And often afterward with joy, 
The mother saw her darling boy ; 
And watched the progress of his years 
With secret joy and mother tears ; 
But in her pondering heart's control 
Deep rests the secret of her soul, 
As she beholds her darling boy ; 



THE NURSLING. 47 

While cruel chains confine her joy, 
And fetter with a mask of steel 
The love which only mothers feel, 
Pent up within a prudent breast 
To riot there in wild unrest. 

Yet consolation slowly heals 
The wounds which injured virtue feels 
When only love its breast hath known 
Through blind devotion's vestal throne, 
And now a calm and sweet refrain 
Rests o'er her troubled soul again. 
But youth and beauty safe may rest 
To wait for fortune's timely test ; 
And romance is to break the seal 
Her destined story to reveal. 

Two rivers met upon the heather low, 
Whose lazy waters move along so slow 
Toward ^the lake, that, like its arm they seemed ; 
As from their unrippled face the moon-beams 
gleamed. 

This was Chicago, in tradition old, 
Of which the red man's tales were early told, 
When came the white man here his race among 
Beset with subtle wiles his flattering tongue. 

And yet, the missionary in his zeal 

To raise the cross and stamp the christian seal 

Indelible upon the virgin land, 

In hopeful faith and love his advent planned. 

The blood of Christ for all mankind was shed ; 
Even these savages though naively bred, 
The holy cross and the communion cup 
Atone for sin if faith can drink it up. 



4 8 AMALGAM A TION. 

Withal, the way is plain and all can see 
How Jesus Christ has died for you and me, 
All but the red man, he felt little need 
For Christ's atoning grace — for Israel's seed. 

He naively said : " This sacrifice for you 
Was made, whose wicked hands your Savior slew; 
No blame can rest on us for this misdeed, 
You'll rue the day you made your Savior bleed. 
Give us your glittering trinkets, guns and knives, 
If honor crowns your brow, we'll give you wives." 

The wanton French accepted the demand ; 
They gave the offerings and took the hand 
Of many a bright naivete alone arrayed 
By nature's gifts, with modesty displayed. 

Here was an episode exemplary, 

Of love and passion hid in mystery 

Which cannot be explained e'en by the Muse, 

Who tells the truth but don't disclose her views ; 

Just gives material for a theory 

On which all candid minds will soon agree. 

Next came a hybrid flock of swarthy sprights, 
Incarnate in their love of savag-e rites, 
No compromise in their unbending will ; 
Nature their God their destiny to fill. 

Three generations now harmonious flew 
While French and Indians thus together grew ; 
Without a word of jealousy or strife 
They mingled freely in the cares of life — 
If wantonness and freedom everywhere 
Could be supposed to have a thoughtful care. 

But all the while the sturdy English stock, 
The same that landed safe on Plymouth Rock, 



THE INDIAN LASSIE. 49 

Were delving on the bleak Atlantic coast ; — 
Their banner, Christ; — while freedom was their 
boast. 

Anon the heights of Abraham they scale, 
And there the keystone of the French assail ; 
Fate hung upon the issue of the hour, 
While trembled in the scale the coming power 
That destiny had marked to rule and reign, 
In triumph over rode the bloody plain. 

Chicago now fell into English hands, 
While yet 'twas but a heath of drifting sands, 
But yet the Indian brave, and lassie, too, 
Traversed the portage in their bark canoe, 
And often here their council fires blazed, 
And here, defiant still, the war-whoop raised. 

One day there came across the portage green 
An Indian lassie, daughter of a queen ; — 
That is, her father was a chief, her ma a squaw, — 
High bred in all the gifts of nature's law. 

And here, before we farther trace the tale. 

We may as well just look behind the veil 

To see the gushing side of every heart — 

Where love devout and passion play their part 

Unshackled by conventional decrees 

That oft offend when they're designed to please. 

" The course of true love never did run smooth ; " 
It will not follow in a ready groove, 
The reckless hero of eccentric turns 
Will give his heart and hand where prudence 
spurns. 

This is a trait of Young America 
When he, defiant, holds himself at bay 

4 



50 THE TOUNG HERO. 

Against the training of his early years 

Though stamped upon his mind by sighs and tears. 

No tale of romance can with luster shine 

Without its hero and its heroine. 

Our heroine, as stated just before, 

Is coming to Chicago's emerald shore ; 

Her waving hair, like streamers in the breeze 

Flutters in negligence the eye to please ; 

Or, better still, to please the manly heart 

That's sensitive to this enticing art ; 

Her step elastic and her form erect, 

Music her voice in Indian dialect, 

Which falls harmonious from her youthful tongue, 

While downcast flashes from her eyes are flung 

After the custom of the devotee 

To youthful fire enshrined in mystery 

Too deep to measure well in prudish scales, 

Not set to balance love's romantic tales. 

In savage life, or highly civilized, 

It little boots when love is improvised ; 

One fountain gently feeds the inward fire 

In lower walks of life as well as higher. 

In this degree our Indian heroine, 

So highly bred in savage life to shine, 

And modest in the charm of beauty's power, 

In playful dalliance spends each youthful hour: 

Accomplished thus while in parental care 

To see the world and breathe the lake's pure air. 

Her lot is cast upon Chicago's shore — 

A rendezvous for trinkets kept in store 

For Indian trade and traffic far and near, 

Where furs were cheap, and Indian blankets dear. 

'Twas here she met her hero young and bold, 
A thoroughbred, fresh from New England's fold, 



THE BLUE-ETED GIRL. 51 

Reared in the matchless training of the land 
That Fanueil Hall had built and freedom planned. 

His kindred might be numbered by the score; 
And every one a reputation bore, 
Respectable, from vice and malice free, 
In faith as orthodox as man could be 
While sinful nature stares him in the face, 
And ever puts to task his christian grace. 

That is, according to the theory 

And current standard of theology 

That then prevailed with no dissenting voice — 

Which iaith accepted with no other choice. 

While yet a child he had a dreamy mind ; 

Above his years in sentiment refined, 

Not only by the teachings of his youth, 
But by a power within that stamped the truth 
Upon his tongue — the index of a heart 
Where only honor dwells and plays its part. 

He was precocious. His inquiring mind 
Was full of romance and inclined 
To school-boy love, an old familiar name 
For the first inklings of Cupid's flame, 
Sometimes abiding, often indiscreet, 
If not successful ever after sweet, 
When tender solaces mature with age, 
In retrospective reveries engage. 

The fond ideal of his youthful flame 

Had every grace exacting love could claim. 

Her form was lithe, her eyes were soft and blue, 

And gently fell before a lover's view 

With all the modesty that could adorn 

A model school girl in her youthful morn. 



52 THE PARTING. 

Our hero loved the child with tenderness 
And something more, that's held in youth's duress, 
As manly strength begins to charge the veins 
Ere more mature thoughts can take the reins. 

To wed was distant in his thoughtful plan ; 
To look ahead life seemed a lengthened span. 
His little sweetheart still was very young, 
And lover's vows might falter on her tongue. 
"Till she's of age, I'll travel far from home, 
And in the Western wilderness will roam 
Till riper years shall crown her youthful life, 
And she shall know the duties of a wife." 

'Twas thus the youth resolved in thought and care, 
And set about his outfit to prepare. 
The day arrived appointed for his start, 
When he from all his early friends must part ; 
From father, brother, sister, mother dear, 
And others met to give a parting cheer. 

And with the group his little sweetheart came, 
Armed with a wreath of rosebuds, and her name 
Wrought with her cunning fingers in the wreath, 
With mottoes suitable concealed beneath. 
He smiled, and took the wreath with words sup- 
pressed, 
And pinned the emblem to his throbbing breast. 

She was the last to give the parting kiss. 
The charm that parting sorrow turns to bliss 
When in the twilight hour of summer's clay 
Love's thoughts will wander where their objects 

stray. 
The stage coach clattered from the homestead 

door, 
Away it went, away our hero bore. 



SHIPWRECKED. 53 

When a few weeks had slowly passed away 
\\\ journeying through the wilds from day to day, 
A sail was seen upon the open sea, 
Far in the distance off Chicago's lea. 
Nearer it comes, before the northern breeze 
That wrestles fiercely with the foaming seas. 
The wind increases ; and tempestuous roar 
The frothy waves that lash Chicago's shore. • 
The ship her anchors cast with trembling hope, 
While groans the hull and creaks each straining 

rope. 
The anchor drags as rolling wave on wave 
The trembling shore in maddened fury lave, 
And soon the ship is dashed against the beach ; 
The headlands low almost within the reach 
Of her bold crew, who to the wreck still cling, 
While on the shore relief is gathering. 

There were no life-boats then ; but in their place 
Stood a bold chieftain of the Indian race. 
Close by the shore there stood a linden tree, 
Whose riven bark is tough and sinewy : 
A lengthened line from this they improvise, 
And round his waist one end the chieftain ties; 
The other end is fastened to the shore ; 
And, thus secured, the chief each victim bore 
Safe from the wreck, despite the mad sea foam, 
And sheltered them within his tented home. 

Wabunsie* was the name of this bold chief 
Whose timely courage had secured relief 

* A noted war chief of the Pottawatomie tribe, who then held the 
entire country along the St. Joseph river, as well as the lands around 
the southern extremity of Lake Michigan, including the Chicago port- 
age. Intimate relations existed between them and the Miamies, directly 
east of them, and many of their warriors were in the ranks of Little 
Turtle's armv when that distinguished chief defeated St. Clair in 1791. 
Indian Robinson, who died at his reservation on the Desplaines, just 
west of Chicago, April 19, 1S72, at the advanced age of one hundred and 



54 COURTSHIP. 

To these adventurers in the far-off West, 
With pioneering spirit thus possessed. 

His daughter's name was Gheezhigneenwateen* 

The same who'd crossed Chicago's portage green — 

The Indian lassie spoken of before, 

Who, with her father, visited this shore 

To see the world like any other belle 

In trading marts where people buy and sell. 

In this respect all belles are much the same; 

Of every nation and of every name. 

In their young hearts the social tie is strong, 

While rolls the tide of joyous youth along. 

Now let us to our hero turn again ; 

So lately rescued from the watery main 

With naught but life and strength : — for purse and 

scrip 
Had perished in the tempest with the ship. 



Though but a tenant of the wigwam now, 
The marks of honor stamped his manly brow. 
Wabunsie saw in him these manly traits, 
While Gheezhigneenwateen around him waits 
With eyes that languish now, and now retire, 
Beneath his ardent gaze of youthful fire. 

He could not understand the words she said, 
But gratitude and love his passion fed ; 

ten years, was well acquainted with Wabunsie, and it is from his report 
of his noble qualities that the writer has been induced to select him as a 
fitting subject to represent the times in which he lived. His home was 
on the St. Joseph river, near the present line between Michigan and 
Indiana. He had a nephew of the same name, who was frequently at 
Chicago in the early day, and is still remembered by perhaps a dozen 
of the present oldest settlers in 1S81. The English of his name is Early 
Morning. 

* The short meaning of her name in the general Algonquin lan- 
guage was "Clear Sky," a very beautiful ideal in connection with her 
father's name. (The clear sky of early morning.) Similar examples of 
refined imagery multiply as one studies Indian names. 



CONTENDING EMOTIONS. 55 

And there's a language in the very sphere 
Of him or her whose passions are sincere. 

Here was a hero and a heroine 

Well matched for love, by nature's own design, 

When nothing else can interpose a plea, 

A future social standing to foresee. 

A conflict in our hero's breast now raged 
Between the passions that his heart engaged, 
And all the teachings of his childhood days ; — 
The natural tribute which affection pays 
To mother's love and father's thoughtful care, 
When childish lips were taught the nursery prayer. 

But more than these, the little blue-eyed girl, 
Whose silken locks he often used to twirl, 
Aroused such memories in his throbbing breast 
As only in a love-torn heart can rest. 

Pending these conflicts in his care-worn mind, 
While gratitude and passion both combined 
To make him marry Gheezhigneenwateen, 
Fresh news of war's alarms came to the scene. 

Along the border rang- the hostile blast, 

And through the forest glooms its shadows cast ; 

And deadly hatred flashed from every eye, 

" Death to the long knives " * was the battle cry. 

And gathered there the cotirier du bois, 
Canadian French of Indian blood alloy, 
And swarthy tenants of the wilderness 
Ornate with feathers, paint, and savage dress. 

Our hero gazed upon the pantomime 

With brain bewildered at the strange design 

* The Miamies and Shawanese during the war of the American 
Revolution called the Americans " the Long Knives." See Clark's 
Conquest of Vincennes. 



56 THE MARRIAGE. 

That tempted him among these wilds to roam, 
Away from the amenities of home. 

His childish days were like that heavenly dream 
To which our future visions fondly gleam, 
To compensate us for our earthly grief, 
And to our troubled spirits bring relief. 

These retrospective consolations past, 
Where, mused the hero, must thy lot be cast ? 
When Gheezhigneenwateen, in pensive mood, 
Before his transitory vision stood. 

Her modest face was radiant with love 

From the deep springs that lift the soul above 

All kindred ties of color or of race , — 

A flash of passion and a fond embrace, 

A plighted vow to only end with life, 

Their hands are joined and they are man and wife* 

St. Clair's invasion and his dire defeat, 
The shouts of victory over his retreat, 
The savage trophies from the battle-field 
Where tested English mettle had to yield 
To Mishikinakwa'sf triumphant host, 
Brought yells exultant to Chicago's coast 
In which our hero joined with feeble yell 
Under the protest of imprisoned spell. 

But honor high within the savage breast 
Protects him from too positive a test 
To mark his preference so newly tried 
Between his kindred and his Indian bride. 

Our hero loved her all the more for this, 
For honor gave his cup a taste of bliss ; 

*The Indian marriages are made by a promise of fidelity without 
form. 

f Little Turtle. 



sp/es. 57 

But soon to stoicism he inclined, 

And won esteem for his reflective mind. 

Meantime a new invasion soon was planned, 

And Gen. Wayne was given its command; 

A band of spies already in the field, 

The Indians' movements oft to him revealed, 

And oft our hero met these subtle spies 

And read their mission in their speaking- eyes. 

Among them was a man whose name was May; 
Who saw our hero when alone one day, 
And mutual confidence inspired the twain, 
When May reported him to General Wayne. 

Our hero next sought Little Turtle's side, 
And introduced to him the Indian bride ; 
This was his voucher for fidelity 
With leave to pass his lines of ambush free. 

And when again the battle spreads its pall, 
And thick and fast the fatal death shots fall, 
The ambuscade is know to General Wayne ; 
And stubborn Indian valor fights in vain. 

Our hero shares the honors of the field ; 
For he to General Wayne their plans revealed ; 
And now he shelters safely in his lines, 
While Gheezhigneenwateen in sorrow pines. 

When thus relieved, the thoughts of home and 

friends 
All other memories of his life transcends ; 
But lingers still some keen regrets between, 
For his forsaken Gheezhigneenwateen. 

But these were transient as his footsteps prest ; 
The sacred shades that dipped the golden crest 



58 THE RETURN. 

Of sunset where his little wondering eyes 
Had oft beheld the colors in the skies. 

Farther along, he wades the pebbled brook, 
Which faithful memory never had forsook ; 
The evening sun was still reflecting there, 
The softened tinge of crimson everywhere. 

Entranced he gazed on the familiar spot, 
His throbbinor heart with tender memories fraught ; 
Here was the arbor where the blue-eyed child 
Had played with him beneath the shadowy wild. 

And then he pondered on the rosebud wreath 
Her little hands had woven while beneath 
The evening shadows of those very trees, 
And given him his parting hour to please. 

Downward he gazed upon the moss-clad ground, 
Lost in a reverie, when a lisping sound 
Broke the dumb silence of the evening air ; 
'Twas her ! 'Twas her ! the blue-eyed girl was there. 

The following extract of a letter (dated " Fort Washington, April 
10, 1792,") from Brigadier General Wilkinson to Captain John Arm- 
strong, then the commanding officer at Fort Hamilton, will throw some 
light upon the nature of the perilous service of those who were employed 
as spies: "My messengers, Freeman at the head, left this on the 7th, 
with a 'big talk,' and are ordered to keep Harmar's trace, which will be 
an evidence to the enemy that they have no sinister designs in contem- 
plation. If they are received, and are suffered to return, they have my 
directions to come by Fort Jefferson. You must order William May to 
desert in a day or two, or must cover his departure by putting him in the 
way to be taken prisoner, as you may deem best. I consider the first 
preferable in one point of view; that is, it would guard him effectually 
against any real desertion which may hereafter take place. It will be 
exceedingly difficult, if not impracticable, for him ever to make a second 
trip with success. However, that will depend, in a great measure, upon 
the fertility of his own genius. He should cross the Miami at or near 
your post, and keep a due north course — remarking critically, the dis- 
tance, ground, and water-courses over which he may pass, until he strikes 
the St. Mary's, the sight of the old Miami village, and the first town. 
His first business will be to find out what has become of my messengers. 
If they have been received and well treated, he may authenticate the sin- 
cerity and good faith which has prescribed their journey. For this pur- 
pose he must be made acquainted with the departure of the messengers, 



REUNION. 59 

And what a change was wrought upon her brow ! 
No more the child, but ripened beauty now 
Transcendent shone before his ardent gaze;— 
A peerless queen that manly love obeys. 

Their love was tested. Little more was said, 
Except to set the day when they should wed. 
Henston, the spy, was the familiar name 
By which he had been known to border fame. 

Hers was Permilla ; — the sweet and mild, 
And loving- mother of the precious child 
That William rescued from the ghostly place 
That sheltered its young mother's maiden grace. 

And now relieved from warring toil, 
Our hero tills the western soil, 
Preempted from the conquered lands 
Enforced by war from native hands. 
Beside Muskingum's interval, 
The happy pair in comfort dwell, 

and the order restraining offensive hostilities. But if they have been 
killed, or made prisoners, and the enemy positively refuse to treat, then, 
so soon as he clearly ascertains these facts, he must return to us, by the 
nearest and safest route. If this occasion should not present, he is to 
continue with the enemy — and is, at all events, to acquire their confidence. 
To this end, he must shave his head — assume their dress, adopt their 
habits and manners — and always be ready for the hunt, or for war. His 
greatest object, during his residence with the enemy, will be to find out 
the names of the nations which compose the confederacy now at war — 
their numbers, and the situation of their respective towns, as to course 
and distance from the old Miami village, and the locality of each. He 
will discover the names, residence, interests, and influence of all the 
white men now connected with those savages; and whether the British 
stimulate, aid, or abet them, and in what manner — whether openly, by 
the servants of government, or indirectly, by traders. He will labor to 
develop what are the general determinations of the savages in case the 
war is continued and we gain possession of their country. Having made 
himself master of these points, or as far as may be practicable, he will 
embrace the first important occasion to come in to us. Such will be the 
moment when the enemy collectively take the field and advance against 
our army, or a detachment of it, and have approached it within a day's 
march. Should he execute this mission with integrity and effect, I 
pledge myself to restore him to his country, and will use my endeavors 
to get him some little establishment, to make his old age comfortable." 



(50 HOME. 

Contented in that love refined 

That grows within a thoughtful mind ; 

Warm as the current of the blood 

That flushes with a crimson flood, 

The downcast face with pleasures glow, 

When thoughts are quick and words are slow. 

There is a wealth of passion's fire 
That glows like coals of living fire ; — 
Unlike the flash of brilliant light 
That blazes to a glimmering sight, 
Then leaves the heart in dark despair, 
The tenant of a solitaire 

The following, from the narrative of John Brickell, published in the 
"American Pioneer," vol. i, p. 52, is quoted as good authority, as Mr. 
Brickell was living among the Indians at the time, having been captured 
when a child and adopted by them. After Wayne's battle he returned 
to his people, and lived many years in Columbus, Ohio, highly esteemed 
by all who knew him. 

" Two or three days after we arrived at the rapids Wayne's spies 
came right into camp among us. I afterward saw the survivors. Their 
names were Miller, M'Cleuland, May, Wells, and Mahaffy, and one 
other whose name I forgot. They came into camp boldly and fired on 
the Indians. Miller got wounded in the shoulder; May was chased by 
the Indians to the smooth rock in the bed of the river, where his horse 
fell. He was taken prisoner, and the rest escaped. They then took 
May to camp. They knew him. He had formerlv been a prisoner 
among them, and ran away from them. They told him: 'We know 
you. You speak Indian language. You not content to live with us. 
To-morrow we take you to that tree (pointing to a very large burr-oak 
at the edge of the clearing which was near the British fort). We will 
tie you up and make a mark on your breast, and we will try what Indian 
can shoot nearest it.' It so turned out. The next day, the very day 
before the battle, they tied him up, made a mark on his breast, and rid- 
dled his body with bullets, shooting at least fifty into him. Thus ended 
poor May. On the next day, being myself about six miles below with 
the squaws, I went out hunting. The day being windy I heard nothing 
of the firing of the battle, but saw some Indians on the retreat. One 
Indian, whom I knew, told me I had better go to camp, for the Indians 
were beaten and they were preparing at camp to make their escape. I 
went and found it as he described. The runners toward dusk came in, 
and said the army had halted and encamped. We then rested that night, 
but in great fear. Next morning the runners told us the army had 
started up the river toward the mouth of the Au-glaise. We were then 
satisfied. Many of the Delawares were killed and wounded. The In- 
dian who took May was killed, and he was much missed, for he was the 
only gunsmith among the Delawares." 



CONTENTMENT. 61 

This wealth our hero and his bride 
In every sense personified, 
That love mature could justly claim, 
Obedient to Cupid's fiame. 

As blessings brighten as they fly, 

As distance will delight the eye, 

As pleasures grow through hope deferred, 

As strains the eye through visions blurred, 

Jo , 

Of what we long to realize 
In earthly blessings which we prize — 
'Tis thus that disappointments touch — 
Or what despair may deem as such — 
Serve but to heighten pleasures still, 
When sweet contentment binds the will 
Within discretion's practiced sphere 
That comes around our pathway here, 
And thus a good foundation lays 
For future joys and happier days. 



CANTO V. 



The scene of this Canto is laid on the banks of the Muskingum 
river, at the home where Henston and his wife have settled. 



As the dim twilight of the century past 
Was vanishing like evening shadows cast 
Upon the heath, 

Our hero, Henston, and his happy wife, 
Sat musing on the pleasing cares of life 
Their roof beneath. 

Some early friends in neighborship allied, 

Were there to see the olden century glide 

Noiseless away, 

As slowly creeps along the midnight hour, 

Omnipotently led behind the power 

Of years' decay. 

Within the, thoughtful group few words were said, 

As vivid retrospective reveries fled 

Across each mind, 

Of by-gone scenes, like a dissolving view, 

That live and die again to bring anew 

What Heaven designed. 

'Twas eleven o'clock when Henston fell asleep, 

And early visions o'er his senses creep 

In sensuous thought; — 

When in the forest haunts he lived again, 

And with his Indian bride roamed o'er the plain 

In image fraught. 



HENS TON'S CHILD. 63 

'Twas but a moment thus that sleep ensnared 
His intellect, that wakefulness repaired, 
When at the gate, 

Though late the hour, a gentle footstep prest. 
The door was opened to the stranger guest — 
A child of Fate. 

Permilla in her ready sympathy 

Received the child upon her mother knee 

With accents mild. 

Asked Henston: "Who's your mother, nege sheen?"* 

" My mother's name was Gheezhigneenwateen," 

Replied the child. 

Permilla looked the wanderer in the face, 
And loved it — though a mixture of a race 
Of nature's wild. 

And Henston pressed the wanderer to his breast 
With all the love a father's heart possessed 
For his own child. 

The clock struck twelve ; the olden century flew, 

And silence reigned as ushered in the new ; 

The moon arose 

Majestic in the sky, a solitaire, 

And voiceless language through the midnight air 

Spoke the repose. 

Up rose the sun to greet the infant morn ; 

The first the nineteenth century to adorn 

With golden light 

Throughout the lands that date from Jesus' birth, 

Among the learned nations of the earth 

Of christian rite. 

* Little friend, in the Algonquin language. 



()4 ADOPTED. 

And even here, upon the border wild, 

Where recently had christian influence smiled 

With love to man — 

Higher and higher still its virtues rise, 

A model of the christian sacrifice, 

Its growth beg;an. 

Permilla, like the spirit of its type, 
Without pretension, but in practice right, 
To Henston said : 

" My dear, shall we adopt the little one, 
As if he were our own beloved son 
Inherited ? " 

The happy Henston granted her request ; 
And here the little wanderer found rest 
And mother's pride. 
And in a father's tender love he grew, 
To multiply his nuptial bliss anew 
With his g;ood bride. 

Permilla, ah ! how little did you know 

The love abiding that should ever grow 

Till life should end, 

Through your maternal love for Henston's boy, 

That to your gate had come so meek and coy 

To seek a friend. 

A floral wreath was tattooed on his arm, 
Done when an infant as a secret charm 
To memorize 

The blue-eyed girl the father left behind, 
Whose image haunted his regretful mind, 
A sacrifice. 

These wounds now healed, his cup of bliss brimmed 

o'er ; 
And yet a kindly wish his bosom bore 



A NEW CHARACTER. 65 

To — 'Neenwateen; 

But the young child could give but small relief 
In his eventful tale of childish grief 
Unknown to kin. 



A modest youth of lowly parentage. 

Once lived within New England's just presage 

But little known. 

He had a brain eccentric in its charm, 

A conscience sensitive and void of harm 

In him was shown. 

His love was deep and every action naive, 

Few were his words, but his young heart was brave 

And captious, too. 

He was opposed to christian faith or creeds, 

And only plumed himself on noble deeds 

To justice true. 

All christians seemed to shun the wayward youth, 

And branded him heretical to truth 

With shame distraught. 

Beneath a public load of guilt thus bowed, 

His stubborn heart in its rebellion vowed 

Free speech and thought. 

In vain the earnest deacons with him plead ; 
To all their pious counsels he was dead — 
In purpose fell : 

But yet there was a voice that he would hear ; 
And when it spoke to him, there came a tear 
His thoughts to tell. 

'Twas young Permilla's ; whose resistless charm 
Subdued the force of his uplifted arm 
5 



66 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 

Rebellious raised. 

From her he learned the evening prayer to say, 
While her example led him in the way 
Where God was praised. 

What marvel such an idol won his heart ! 

She was his life — his God — his better part — 

Though but a child. 

The nuptial vow was sealed on either side, 

When she should take his hand and be his bride 

By love beguiled. 

And yet this child still languished for the boy 
With whom her infant days were spent with joy, 
Forever fled : 

But he, with it, had vanished like a dream ; 
And other hopes of plighted love might gleam 
If he was dead. 

The lover now the father took aside, 
And humbly sued him for the gentle bride 
With throbbing heart : 
When he, with fury raging angrily, 
Rebuked the swain for his temerity, 
And bade depart. 

The heavens now darkened to the lover's eyes ; 

His heart was crushed, and he a sacrifice 

To love's despair. 

A raving maniac away he fled, 

And soon was numbered with the missing dead- 

No one knew where. 

Permilla, now the victim of despair, 
Fled from the turmoil of parental care 
Her shame to hide, 

And found a refuge from the eye of scorn 
In solitude unknown ; — with hope forlorn 
Alone she sighed. 



A STRANGE MEETING. 67 

But heaven's decrees protect the victimed one. 

As William to his home receives her son 

As his own child. 

And now Permilla, through her sighs and tears, 

Is schooled in charity beyond her years 

By love beguiled. 



We'll now return again to Henston's home, 
Ornate with bowers, where love delights to roam, 
The soul to please ; 

When, at the noontide hour of summer's day, 
The western winds beneath the shadows play 
Under the trees, 

While thus were seated in the grateful shade, 
Which o'er the lawn its flickering outline laid, 
Henston and wife. 

A carriage drove within their open gate : 
Henston advanced to on the strangers wait, 
With manners rife, 

When his astonished eyes beheld within 
His Indian mistress, Gheezhigneenwateen — 
With easy air. 

Her husband, Henry, sitting by her side 
Was he who sought Permilla for his bride 
In humble prayer. 

Permilla recognized his well known face ; 

While heaven armed her with a prudent grace 

To justify 

The recognition of a youthful friend, 

Whose welcome call by no means could transcend 

A social tie. 



68 THE INTRODUCTION. 

Then Henston took the hand of — 'Neenwateen, 

And introduced the daughter of a queen 

To his good wife 

As an old friend of his erratic days, 

Whose father, in his own ingenious ways, 

Had saved his life. 

And soon inquiry came about her son — 
Her first-born, when her wedded life begun — 
Whose name was Swan. 

The boy was brought ; but with a vacant stare 
Beheld his mother, from whose tender care 
He'd been withdrawn 

When, at the victory gained by General Wayne, 

The vanquished, fleeing through the wooded main, 

Lost was the child, 

And soon into the victor's lines he fell ; 

But none there were his parentage to tell, 

Or romance wild 

By which the little wanderer had sprung 
Into the world, the Western wilds among, 
With blanched face ; 
And as a trophy from the Western wild, 
A volunteer took home the captured child 
To his own place. 

But in his veins nobility was bred, 

From sire and mother both inherited 

By nature's sway 

Though seven years old, he could not brook a sneer. 

Or in a servile attitude appear, 

And fled away, 

To rest within a tender father's care ; 

And all the sweets of home, sweet home, to share, 

In plenty spread. 



THE PARTING. 69 

The mother, though a native, was discreet ; 
Her heart was full of joy her child to meet — 
Thus rescued. 

She pressed her first-born to her throbbing breast, 

And turned her eye toward the distant West, 

Her native place, 

Then unto Henston with emotion sighed, 

" I give my child to you, to be allied 

To the white race." 

With deep impression now the parting came ; 

When Henry spoke Permilla's dearest name 

In sad good-by ; 

While she serenely smiled with deep refrain, 

As early recollections came again, 

As visions fly. 

Permilla next embraced the Indian bride, 
Who pensive lingered by her husband's side 
In dreamy thought. 

All looked again, and said the word good-by ; 
The curtain drops with many a parting sigh 
By memory brought. 



CANTO VI. 

The scene of this Canto is laid at the house of Henston and Per- 
milla, to which Alfred and William, Jr., have found their way soon after 
their arrival in the new settlement. 

One day, when summer's haze had fled, 
And autumn's touch had tinged with red 
The leaf that flies before the wind 
And leaves its naked stem behind, 
Alone upon the balcony, 
Permilla sat in reverie : 
Two travelers approached her door, — 
One of the youths she'd seen before. 

" It is ! — it is my dearest boy ! " 

She almost cried aloud for joy; 

But prudence to her rescue came, 

And she salutes him by his name. 

" My boys, I'll be your mother here, 

As if you were my oldest sons ;" 

Then wipes away a gathering tear 

And calls around her little ones 

To show them their big brothers now — 

An epithet that all allow 

To measure out a hearty cheer 

And welcome to the pioneer. 

The last reserve within her heart 
Was sheltered with a virgin's art ; 
It longed to make its secret known 
And then recoiled to love alone : — 

70 



THE HEART'S RESERVE. 71 

An altar in a sacred shrine, 
A treasure in a hidden mine ; 
An ever living and unspent 
Well-spring of love, by fortune sent, 
To shed around her happy sphere 
A magic charm that all revere ; 
As if her heart here held a reserve 
Some destined purposes to serve ; 
And happy they whose fortune shared 
The sweets of life her hands prepared. 

Alfred and William's happy lot 

To these enchantments now were brought, 

As if a destiny to fill 

Obedient to a higher will 

That always smiles upon the good, 

When virtue's rightly understood. 

Amidst this spacious forest home 
Their youthful feet delight to roam ; 
For there's a grandeur in its shades, 
Gleaming with rivers and with blades — 
A boundless wilderness of trees 
Bred in an age of mysteries, 
That man may in its depths renew 
An Eden, where first pleasures grew 
In beauty, spread o'er nature's face, 
To benefit the human race. 

The cabin of the pioneer, 
With all its rough exterior, 
Reposing on the forest farm, 
Is not without its rural charm ; 
For oft within its creaking door 
In flowing basket and in store, 
In all the sweet amenities 
That help to gladden and to please, 



72 THE LOG CABIN. 

I n thought and speech and frankness crowned ; 
A model household may be found. 

The cottagfe of New England dells, 
Where industry in comfort dwells, 
While Muses charm a tuneful chime, 
Will live in memory and rhyme. 
Then why should less the log-built cot 
In measured numbers be forgot 
Where lives again the early days 
Of " Auld " New England's pleasing ways ? 

The child is taught his ABC, 
And nightly on the bended knee, 
Glad in his Heavenly Father's care, 
Repeats his simple nursery prayer. 

These teachings came from Plymouth rock, 
Inherited from English stock 
Of Puritans in James First's reign, 
Transported o'er the watery main. 

And provident is nature's hand, 
With ample means at her command 
To multiply this leaven, sent, 
Till it has filled the continent. 

When childhood into youth has grown, 
Then grows the seed thus early sown, 
To ripen in maturer age ; — 
Attuned to glowing youth's presage. 

The festive boards and gilded halls, 
Are not the scenes that age recalls 
As treasured most of early days, — 
Or fittest for the Muses' lays. 

The inward thoughts that flush the mind 
When youth to manhood is inclined, 



THE PIONEER. 73 

And chafes to join of life the dance 
That fires the heart as years advance : 

'Tis then the adolescent soul 
Is thirsty for the flowing bowl ; 
And copious drinks the living spring 
Of youth's precocious inkling, 
And revels in the sunny hours 
Along a path of blushing flowers. 

And why should not these halcyon days 
Be spent in these enchanted ways — 
If honor rules the fleeting hour 
And grasps the reins of rising power? 

These are the springs of storied fame 
That ornament the nation's name, — 
The driving wheels that move the train 
Of public good through private gain. 

For aught that tends to private good 
Will tend, if rightly understood, 
To compensate the public weal ; 
And stamp it with a golden seal — 
The emblematic guarantee 
Of freedom, faith and liberty. 

These inspirations rule the mind 
When governments are first designed ; 
And in their early years dispense 
The measure of benevolence, 
In which all have an even share 
As subjects of the public care ; 
This is the charm that rallies here 
The bold, adventurous pioneer. 

Peculiar to his special age, 

Alone he stands on history's page ; 



74 FOREST LIFE. 

He lived and grew on nature's spoil, 

Teeming in plenty from the soil 

And never felt a servile fear 

Or cringed beneath a haughty sneer 

From any man above his grade 

To whom an homage should be paid. 

His garments were of rustic woof, 
The product of the hetchel tooth ; 
Or buckskin of domestic brand, 
Or woolen fabrics made by hand. 
But honor in his manly breast 
Was graced with nature's gentleness. 

While basking in her youthful days, 
The rising state its tribute pays 
To merit, though of humble birth. 
It is received for what it's worth, 
And industry commands its price, 
Unshackled yet by art's device. 

These were her trusty days of youth, 
Of gushing sentiment and truth, 
Self sacrifice and patriot zeal, 
To faithful serve the public weal : 
When honesty a premium wins, — 
Essential ere a man begins 
A place of public trust to fill, 
Elected by the people's will. 

A forest life in freedom's air 
Exempts a man from social care ; 
And all his household share the charm 
That gathers round a forest farm. 

Each member has a horse to ride, 
And every girl, with modest pride, 
Accomplished in equestrian skill, 
Swift through the vale and o'er the hill, 



THE FOREST CAMP. 75 

She vanishes away with speed 
When mounted on her flying steed. 

Even the mother rides with art, 
And plays with ease Diana's part, 
As gracefully she reins her steed, 
Ambling along with carefuler heed. 

Their ample board is daily spread 
With fowl and meat by nature bred, — 
The product of the marksman's skill, 
While ranging through the heather still. 

The boys are dextrous in this art ; 
And each can play the hunter's part, 
E'en while they're in the early teen — 
With tenor voice and beardless chin. 

Oh, give me the wild woods, my hearties, for cheer ! 
The dog, and the gun, and the carnival here, 
Of the camp in the forest, where earth is our bed, 
Beneath the broad canopy over our head ! 

The venison is pierced with the sharp wooden spit, 
The " Johnny cake" mixt and the camp fires lit ; 
When all is made ready the camp cloth is spread, 
And jollity reigns while the hunters are fed. 

You may feast on your luxuries dainty andrare, 
With your dishes disguised for an epicure's snare, 
And your appetite pampered with brandy and wine, 
So essential to guests when invited to dine, — 
But give me the feasts which the hunters prepare, 
Invitingly spread in the wilderness air. 

And give me the joys that the pioneer knows, 
When the forest is felled by the wood-chopper's 

blows ; 
The orchard is planted, the cabin is made, 
And olans for the future successfully laid. 



76 LASTING IMPRESSIONS. 

Light taxes to pay, and no suits to defend, 
No assessments to fee a political friend, 
No clannish inductions or intricate rings, 
The popular conscience to wound with its stings. 

A man every inch is the pioneer bold ; 

His wealth is in treasures more precious than gold; 

He carries his youth till in years he is old, 

And his name is with honor forever enrolled. 

A mansion may follow his wilderness cot, 
Luxury may gather around the wild spot, 
The wealth of the Indies may fall to his lot ; 
But his bushwhacking riot is never forgot. 



CANTO VII. 

CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 

William, foster-father of William, Jr. 
Sarah, foster-mother of William, Jr. 
Lydia, William, Jr's, intended bride. 
Wilton, Lydia's father. 
Mary, Lydia's mother. 
Grace, Alfred's intended bride. 
Judson, Grace's father. 
Hannah, Grace's mother. 
Jacob, Alfred's father. 
Emily, Alfred's mother. 

PROLOGUE. 

Three sturdy oaks stood in an open ground, 
Whose bracing roots had pierced the stubborn soil 
Through rocky seams with solid earth inlaid ; 
Beneath their wavering shade all round there rose 
A shelving quarry just above the green, 
As if an earthquake had its strata turned 
Sidewise above the even, grassy plain. 
These venerable oaks had braved a thousand storms; 
And pilgrims learned to love their gnarled trunks 
Which rose above the winter's drifting snows, 
Stripped of their foliage, like naked masts, 
When ocean's storm rolls up the swelling wave, 
And sails are reefed before the angry blasts : 
But more they loved their summer's noontide shade 
That mottled o'er the rocky plain around. 
Hard by, the parish church uplifts its spire, 
Where every Sabbath came from far and near 
The rustic husbandman with wife and all 
To spend the entire day in serving God. 



78 THE OLD CHURCH GROUNDS- 

Except on fasting days the lunch was brought, 

To eat at intermission's quiet hour ; 

'Twas then they gathered in the oak tree's shade, 

And there around some venerable sire 

Who'd fought at Bunker Hill or Brandywine, 

The oft-told tale of war was told again * 

But never told too oft for listening ears. 

The trodden path that circled round and round, 

Drew to the old church door its even way ; 

And old men tottered on its scrolling curves, 

While youngsters skipped along with nimble step 

To gather at the service once again 

When intermission's social hour was spent. 

As circling years rolled on, the grass o'ergrew 

The beaten paths around the old church door, 

And mosses gathered round the granite steps 

Which nimble feet had polished with their tread. 

Death had been tardy with the elder ones 

In that old-fashioned age of quiet life, 

But one by one the youthful sons had gone 

To seek their fortune on a grander scale 

Than future promise offered them at home, 

The evergreen and laurel soon o'ergrew 

The grassy pastures where the cattle fed, 

And here again the chary partridge drummed 

And the sly fox his lonely borough dug 

Among the infant forests on the lawn 

Which slowly trenched upon the homestead farm 

For want of muscular hands to prune them down. 

The fathers sighed because the boys had gone, 

The girls hummed musing airs and blushed aside 

While Eros reigned within their trusting hearts. 

* The writer himself has a distant recollection of listening to such 
recitals from old revolutionary soldiers given beneath the shadow of 
venerable oak trees which grew around the old church in Lvndeborough, 
N. H., which has long since been torn down and a new one built in its 
place. 



THE WELCOME. 79 

Scene in the shade of the trees beside the Jwuse of 
William, Sr m the artist who rescued William, 
Jr., from the haunted house and adopted hint 
as his eldest son, keeping the secret from him. 

Win. Welcome, my trusty friends who gather 
here ! 
Warm summer's breath ne'er hummed a sweeter 

chime 
Than as it whispers through the venerable boughs 
That shelter us to listen to its song. 
It sings to you and me of years just past 
So lately when the tree-fringed* welkin rung 
With merry shouts and boisterous revelry 
From the lithe tongues of our erratic boys. 
Now they are men in measure and in strength ; 
Not wayward in their bent and turn of mind, 
But yet a cap of gray for their green heads 
Would utilize the force of their young brains, 
And lead them to the paths of coming fame 
Where western empire's star is rising now ; — 
Yes, where a thousand leafy falls 
Have flushed the soil with everlasting strength, 
Through fertile valleys wild and desolate, 
Trod only by the deer and pilfering wolf. 
Where nature's amplitude has spread a store 
Of wealth uncounted for the magic touch 
Of hands to metamorphose into life ; 
They will not leave this grand inheritance 
To delve again among these rock-clad hills ; 
But we can leave these toils and go to them, 
To guide the kindling fires of their brains 
That overbrim the muscles of their limbs. 

* Among the hilly portions of New England the lower portions of 
the sky dipped into pine forests in the early day, so near that their jagged 
tops were shown in relief on the ground-work of blue beyond in the 
charming landscape. 



80 THE OLD FARM. 

Jac. I am an humble man, unlearned in speech ; 
Have toiled these forty years among the hills 
Where rest our fathers in the churchyard laid. 
Here every rock that studs the homestead farm, 
My children's little naked feet have climbed 
While in their swaddling clothes ; 
And stood upon their tops to see the sun 
Grow larger as it dipped the evening sky ; 
Or faintly traced the milky-colored moon, 
And watched it till it grew to yellow gold 
Amidst a firmament of twinkling stars, 
While oft their little mimic voices chimed 
Sonorous with the robin's twilight notes, 
That sang the requiem of dissolving day. 
It may be weak in me to love my farm 
Although my arms have urged but feeble store 
From its produce with many a weary strain, 
And still these very toils have bound me here 
As if to tear my very heart in two ; 
Wmile Alfred's lot is cast in the far West, 
My feeble hands must till the farm alone, 
With a still feebler heart to urge them on, 
When age is shortening my weary step 
And life is gathering to a narrow span. 

Em. Well, Jacob, — rocks and hills and farm 
and all — 
When weighed against our children's hopes in life, 
Would sever from their moorings to the earth, 
And vanish like the silvery spray of June 
Lost in a cloudless sky at morning's dawn ; 
While yet their forms may linger in the mind, 
And cling around the faithful heart like tendrils 
Of an old perennial vine whose young embrace 
Had fixed its coils inflexible in age* 

* It is within the memory of the writer that the emigration from 
New England was in an active state. It was called the western fever; 



PROPHECY. 81 

Salt. This rosebud (Grace) would blossom in 
the West, 
A peerless flower planted in its sphere. 

Gra. You represent me in such brilliant hues, 
My feeble tongue is balked for a reply. 
I am a plain and simple girl ; obedient, 
As becomes my early years, withal 
Ambitious ; with an ever trusting heart, 
Unclouded yet by disappointment's touch. 

Wm. Well said, fair Grace, you are a genius true, 
Taught by Dame Nature in the modest ways 
Becoming to your years and to your sex ; 
You and Lydia both will go through safe, 
Or I'll renounce my skill in prophecy. 
What if the younger men are gone away ? 
They'll not stay long alone ; but they'll return 
As loyal subjects to the old hearthstone 
To pay allegiance to their first inheritance ; 
And this allegiance will ne'er be paid 
Till each hath won the hand of some fair maid. 

Lyd. Very consoling, surely, to the fair ; — 
But what's to be the fate of those who're not, — 
Pray, Master William, have you these forgot ? 

Wm. Pardon, Miss Lydia, it is very clear 
There is no such problem for solution here. 

Wil. E'en if there were, William is good for't ; — 
He'd dive into the depths of her deep soul, 
And to the surface bring some panacea 
To lift the pall from off her burdened heart ; 
He'd fan the dormant spark into a flame 
To flush her homely face with pensive charms, 

and even then so prevalent that the price of farms depreciated, pastures 
were allowed to grow up to pine forests, old cemetries presented a lone- 
some appearance where rested our fathers, sometimes without a kindred 
descendant to crop the fuzzy June grass that grew on their graves, or 
even prune down the witch-hazel brush that may have invaded their 
resting place. 
6 



82 COMPLIMENT ART. 

To win some thoughtful mind with love amazing 
That's sure to shun " the rose that all are praising." 

Lyd. Oh, Master William, luck to me is brought, 
That in your tutelage is cast my lot ; 
I'll try to be as good as I can be. 

Gra. Pray, Master William, take the charge of 
me. 

Jud. Yes, Master William, they're safe within 
your care — 

Many, From every danger and from every snare. 

Han. Mary, when we were girls, we never knew 
Such consolations for a homely face. 

Wil. They were not needed ; for they never 
grew 
Among the children of your native race ; 
From Plymouth Rock these gifts began their date, 
And gathered strength as grew the rising state. 

Wm. Nor kings nor princes are the patentees 
Of aristocracy in sentiment ; 
The healthiest germs of true nobility 
Take deepest root within the fallow soil 
Where the wild flowers unexpected bloom ; 
Even as these young girls are gently bred, 
Clad in the habitude of modest aims, 
Yet worthy in the noblest ranks to shine ; 
Not through the rights inherited by birth — 
A juster claim is theirs to honor's roll ; 
It comes along a path by genius trod, 
Holding within its hands those magic spells 
That turn the purposes of man — 

Wil. Toward themselves. 

Mary. Lydia never looks so far ahead ; 
She's quite absorbed with painting and with books ; 
Pleased that she wins her Master William's praise, 
And studious to honor his good trust. 



THE PAINTED FLY. 83 

Wil. Pardon for my volition, master of minds, 
I pray you think less, for thy stomach's sake ; — 
Lest indigestion check the vital stream : 
Leave sentiment to your pencil's silent tongue 
That speaks in deepest tones of eloquence. 
And now, unbend from deep philosophy, 
To revel on the lowly plain of life, 
Where mortals dwell like Mary and like me : 
Thine inspiration, true, we sometimes share 
To raise our minds above the din of toil ; 
And now, I pay you back in my own coin, 
To modify and recreate your mind. 

Sah. I'll pardon you, and thank you, too, 
For interposing with such kind behoof; 
You represent a law that's practical — 
And leads us through the plain routine of life ; 
While William takes us up the Alpine heights 
Of maiden's dreams, where all delight to go, 
But cannot tarry there through middle age, 
While threading through the paths of life the stage. 

Wm. My friends, I stand confessed a culprit 
here ; 
Excuse the unwitting thefts that banish cheer, 
Let lighter studies variegate the scene. 

Sah. And aught that pleases us may intervene. 
Lydia, where have you gone so coy and shy ? 

Mary. She's just sat down to paint a little fly, 
Just lit upon that rich Bohemian vase : — 
Well, let the insect quietly remain. 

Han. To try to frighten it would be in vain ; 
Though but a bit of paint, it is a fly ; — 
If we can trust the measure of our eye. 
Grace, what do you think of this illusive art ?. 

Grace. It is just the thing to play a comic part ; 
When the next thirsty traveler passes by, 
If from the vase he brushes at the fly 



84 THE FLOCK OF GEESE. 

Ere his parched lips may taste the cooling draught, 
Then Lydia 's crowned the mistress of her craft. 

Wm. I leave this all to you, mischievous girls, 
This is your realm when in your teens and curls ; 
But don't forget that ev'n a silly fly 
May sometimes " cast the hazard of a die." 
Sarah, my dear, look at this quaint device 
That Lydia's hand has made but in a trice 
Inside the brim of this Bohemian vase, 
With folded wings of finest gossamer lace, 
A model of the one you like so well, 
That sits in silence like a fairy spell 
Where first unwittingly it quickly grew — 
A monument of your father's care for you. 

Sak. Lydia, you have a very ready touch, 
To improvise so quickly ; quite as much 
As practiced masters in their reveries 
Who've graduated at fine art's degrees. 

Wil. Young girls, look there among the distant 
pines 
Where round the point the scrolling road inclines ; 
Two men are coming at a rapid pace 
As if intent upon a walking race ; 
They're two athletic youths its plain to see, 
So quick they've vanished round the open lea, 
Along the river's craggy headland shore, 
Round which its limpid waters swiftly pour. 

Win. \C ailing to the hired man. 

Elisha, drive that flock of geese away. 

Wil. I pray you, William, let them stay awhile ; 
To youthful travelers they're a tempting wile ; 
Their downy breasts suggest a feather bed, — 
A bride's behest when to the altar led. 
While yet remains a single miss at home 
The feathered flock is still allowed to roam ; 



THE SURPRISE. 85 

Essential when the girl becomes a wife, 

To furnish he.r a start in married life. 

Hence, youthful travelers call where geese are seen, 

To bandy words with circumspectful mien ; 

Expecting there to find some blushing sprite 

To play the hostess in her ways polite ; 

And if you let those feathered fowls remain ; 

To feed in quiet on the grassy plain, 

Those two young men will hardly pass the place 

Without a halt to see a pretty face. 

Lyd. Then, Elisha, drive those goslins far 
away, — 

Gra. That they may not our single lot betray. 

The two yozmg travelers now approach, and prove 
to be Alfred a?td William, Jr., unexpectedly 
returned from the West. After the first flush 
of mingled joy and S2ir prise are over, the wine 
vase is filled, and William requested to fill the 
glasses from it. All eyes are turned toivard 
him to see if he would notice the painted fly. 
He made a motion to brush it away before fill- 
ing the glasses. Lydia bore the complimentary 
honors with becoming modesty. William and 
Sarah are moved with deep emotion. Here 
we will leave the happy grottp to renew the old 
ties of consanguinity with Alfred and Will- 
iam, Jr., and listen to their adventures in the 
great interior ; — as the valley of the Muskin- 
gum was then looked upon to be. 



CANTO VIII. 

The scene of this canto is on a pleasure boat on the 
Merrimac river. 

CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 

William and his wife, Sarah, and their children. 

Wilton and his wife, Mary. 

Jacob and his wife, Emily. 

Judson and his wife, Hannah. 

William, Jr. 

Alfred. 

Grace. 

Lydia. 

Henston and his wife, Permilla, on a visit from the West. 

Wil. Friends, we are here to honor our guests — - 
Henston, and his distinguished wife, Permilla ; 
And with this end in view, we now embark 
On this delightsome ran^e alonof these shores, 
Bathed by this limpid stream on either side, 
And animate with life and beauty crowned. 
Not lonor aoo these undulating hills 
Were all our fathers knew of our land ; 
Now they are but the portals to its depths; 
Majestic in their wild, unmeasured realms — 
A broad asylum hidden in reserve, 
Our generation's purposes to serve. 
Henston, you've sounded them with bold design ; 
We pray you would delight our listening ears 
With some recitals of your frontier life 
When you were hemmed amidst the fields of strife. 

Hen. True, I have served my country as a spy, 
Far in the wilds bequeathed to savage ken, 

86 



INDIAN CAPTIVES. 87 

By the great Manitou, the master of their lives. 

While faithful I have served my country's flag, 

Still pity oft hath reveled in my heart 

For many a hero taught in nature's book, 

High bred with lofty virtues never known 

Within a trained civilian's coysome breast. 

I've shared the mat,* and the last stinted meal 

By savage hospitality vouchsafed, 

When I was but a traitor in disguise 

To spread the toils of danger in their camp : 

And yet they loved me for my friendly mask ; — - 

For why should they withhold their gushing faith, 

Untutored as they were in courtly wiles? 

Full many a blanched face among them grew, 

Riant loyal to their naive allurements, 

That live and grow and gather marvelous strength 

Amidst their charmed and voiceless solitudes. 

Some cast their lot among them as a choice ; 

As hermits shelter like a hid recluse ; 

Others were captives in their tender years 

And only knew a swarthy parent's love, — 

Sanguine and concentrated in its gush, 

And unalloyed with ceremonial bonds. 

'Twas thus I found them in their forest haunts 

When General Wayne invaded their domain ; 

And oft I sent him messages of trust 

By shy apostates to their waning cause. 

And when the fatal day of battle came, 

The painted braves were in a covert crouched 

Where the tornado's gathering wrath had mowed 

The standing forests like the hayman's scythe, f 

* A skin spread on the ground, on which the Indians slept. 

fThe place that the Indian chief. Little Turtle, had chosen to fight 
General Wayne was called the "Fallen Timber;" where a tornado had 
leveled the forest a few years before, and afforded a covert, for the Indians 
supposed it to be impenetrable to Wayne's army; but they were easily 
driven from it by shelling the treacherous place of ambush. 



88 THE BATTLE. 

Here, like a thunderbolt from cloudless skies, 
A sudden storm of shot and fiery shells 
Burst vengefully amidst their ambuscade. 
Before this tempest fierce of flying shot, 
Then Little Turtle fled from his white foes ; — 
He who had conquered many a hard-fought field, 
By Harmer and St. Clair and others waged, 
He was a brave but fallen chieftain now, 
But no dishonor stained his martial brow. 

Wm. Where were you, Henston, when the battle 
raged ? 

Hen. Not very far from Little Turtle's side : — 
I watched the hero when his warriors fled, 
Retreating to the kindly forest glooms 
When consternation filled each warrior's heart, 
Hid by a wooden immobility 
That scorned to cower before a victor's wand ; 
But yet some tender words to captives said 
Fell from their foster fathers' earnest tongues,* 

* The following statement of John Brickell, already quoted in a pre- 
vious canto, was published in the American Pioneer in 1844; and is here 
inserted as authentic testimony to show in its true light the simple vir- 
tues that illumined the dark and thorny path of the Indians. Their con- 
querors have been their historians, and this gives increased value to any 
information from unprejudiced eye-witnesses from among them: 

" On the same day Whingwy Pooshies told me I must go over to the 
fort. The children hung round me crying, and asked me if I was going 
to leave them? I told them I did not know. When we got over to the 
fort, and were seated with the officers, Whingwy Pooshies told me to 
stand up, which I did; he then rose and addressed me in about these 
words: 'My son, there are men the same color with yourself. There 
may be some of your kin there, or your kin may be a great way. off from 
you. You have lived a long time with us. I call on you to say if I 
have not been a father to you? If I have not used you as a father would 
use a son?' I said, 'You have used me as well as a father could use a 
son.' He said, 'I am glad you say so. You have lived long with me; 
you have hunted for me; but our treaty says you must be free. If you 
choose to go with the people of your own color, I have no right to say a 
word; but if you choose to stay with me, your people have no right to 
speak. Now reflect on it and take your choice, and tell us as soon as 
you make up your mind.' I was silent a few minutes, in which time it 
seemed as if I thought of almost everything. I thought of the children 
I had just left crying; I thought of the Indians I was attached to, and I 
thought of my people which I remembered, and this latter thought pre- 



WHINGWr POOSHIES. 89 

Which measured the unchanging love that burns 
Spontaneous in each unpretending heart 
For these loved ones from whom they now must 
part. 

dominated; and I said, ' I will go with my kin.' The old man then said, 
' I have raised you; I have learned you to hunt. You are a good hunter. 
— You have been better to me than my own sons. I am now getting 
old and I cannot hunt. I thought you would be a support to my age. I 
leaned on you as on a staff. Now it is broken. — You are going to leave 
me, and I have no right to sav a word; but I am ruined.' He then sank 
back in tears to his seat. 1 heartily joined him in his tears — parted with 
him, and have never seen nor heard of him since. 

"The Delawares are the best people to train up children I ever was 
with. They never whip, and scarce ever scold them. I was once struck 
a stroke, and but once while a member of the family; and then but just 
touched. Thev are remarkably quiet in the domestic circle. A dozen 
may be in one cabin, of all ages, and often scarcely noise enough to pre- 
vent the hearing a pin fall on a hard place. Their leisure hours are, in a 
measure, spent in training up their children to observe what they believe 
to be right. They often point out bad examples to them and say, 'See 
that bad man, he is despised by everybody; he is older than you; if you 
do as he does, everybody will despise you by the time you are as old as 
he is.' They often point to good examples as worthy of imitation; such 
as braves and honest men. I know- I am influenced to good, even at 
this day, more from what I learned among them than what I learned 
among people of my own color. Well might Jefferson say, 'The prin- 
ciples of their society forbid all compulsion.' 

" Honesty, bravery, and hospitality are cardinal virtues with them. 
Let a man prove himself remiss in either of these respects, and he will 
soon find he has no business with that people. If a man prove to be 
cowardly, the finger of scorn is soon pointed at him, and he hears 
' Squaw ! ' pronounced. In that way they turn a strong current of public 
sentiment against all commissions or omissions of their moral and re- 
ligious code. In respect to hospitality and neighborly kindness, they set 
a good example for any people to follow. It may be truly said of them 
in the language of Logan, ' When did ever a white man enter an Indian 
cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat? ' When a company of strangers 
or travelers come to a town and encamp, they are not asked if they want 
anything, but a runner starts through the town proclaiming that strang- 
ers have arrived. On this intelligence every family cooks of the best they 
have and take to the strangers, for which there is no thought of a charge 
being made, or anything given in return. If they want to be helped on 
their wav, every possible assistance is granted them in the same benevo- 
lent spirit. Their rules and traditions forbid any indiscriminate inter- 
course of the sexes; and I believe, as respects the crimes of fornication 
and adulterv,thev are the most strictly chaste and virtuous people on earth. 
They worship the Great Spirit, whom they call Manitou; which signifies 
or conveys to their mind the idea of all strength, or rather all sufficiency. 
They never used that name irreverently on one occasion when I was 
with them. They have no terms in their language by which they can 
swear profanely; and if they ever do it, it must be by means of phrases 
learned of white men Their young, in a remarkable degree, reverence 



90 WHINGW2' POOS HIES. 

Sah. Were they delivered up to their own kin ? 

Hen. Yes, with many a tender parting word. 
Old Whingwy Pooshies was an aged chief , 
A eentle heart reigned in his iron breast ; 
And when the captives of the battle-field 
That earlier years had crowned with victory 
Were brought around the savage council fires, 
They found in him a father in their griefs. ' 

Per. Then Henston was released from soldier life; 
We met, and I am his obedient wife. 

Gra. Poor Whingwy Pooshies, what a good 
old man ! 

and honor the aged, especially their parents. They do not covet each 
other's goods, nor intentionally make a false accusation against anyone, 
that I ever knew. 

"It was about the first of June, 1795, that I parted with Whingwy 
Pooshies. The next day I started for Fort Greenville. I rode on a horse 
furnished by the Americans. I was under the charge and protection of 
Lieutenant Blue, who treated me with every kindness, and at Fort Green- 
ville had a good suit of clothes made for me by a tailor. We had been 
there about a week when a company of men arrived from Cincinnati, 
among whom was a brother of my brother's wife, with whom I had lived, 
and from whom I was taken. He told me of a sister I had who was 
married and lived about nine miles from Cincinnati, up Licking, on the 
Kentucky side. I then left Mr. Blue at Fort Greenville and went to my 
sister's. She and all the neighbors seemed to be overjoyed; and a great 
crowd collected to see me and hear about my living among the Indians. 

" In 1797 I came to this place, that is now Columbus, Ohio, and have 
resided here ever since; generally enjoying good health, never having 
cost a dollar in my life for medical aid, and without ever wearing any- 
thing like a stocking inside of my moccasins, shoes, or boots, from the 
time I went among them to this day; and I can say, what perhaps few 
can at this day, that my feet are never cold. 

"At another time, the Lord granting the opportunitv, I will give 
more of the incidents of my life, as connected with the settlement and 
improvement of the country. One thing seemed remarkable. While 
among the Indians I often prayed to be released from my captivity and 
to live among a christian people again; promising, if the Lord would 
grant that blessing, I would make open profession of his name. Soon 
after my arrival in the neighborhood of Pittsburg, I thought the time 
had come; but my courage failed, and I prayed to be excused till I settled 
in the world. That prayer seemed to be granted; and, soon after I set- 
tled on the Sciota, the impressions that the time had come revived with 
seemingly double force, and I was made to give up; and I have from that 
time to this enjoyed the consolations of religion, which none can appre- 
ciate but those who have experience in it. Given under my hand in the 
city of Columbus, Ohio, this 29th day of January, 1S42." 



LITTLE TURTLE. 91 

Lyci. How I should love to paint his grief-worn 
face, 
And trace the lines that sorrow there engraved ! 

Win. Yes, such are rare subjects for the artist's 
touch, 
That always seeks for some excess of love 
Or hate — some overweanine dash, to fill 
The measure of an overzealous heart. 
These are the toys that artists play with 
At the easel ; 'tis the harvest for their hands — 
The common routine of their daily toil. 

Hen. Young girls, I love to see your hearts so 
warm 
Toward those old heroic ones; though lowly born, 
They acted well their part on battle's plain ; 
They fought with courage, but they fought in vain 
Against the destiny of hidden fate 
That guides the fortunes of our rising state. 

Sah. Where is the hero, Little Turtle, now ? 

Hen. He is an old, respected citizen, 
Pensioned and honored by the government, 
Whose high esteem is challenged by his deeds 
As seen through tenderness to captives shown, 
Through valiant conduct on the battle-field, 
And moderate counsels when a victor crowned.* 



* During the early frontier wars, Little Turtle adopted a captive 
child named David Wells into his family, and raised him with exemplary 
care. He was the son of General Wells, of Kentucky. The child had 
a great affection for his foster-father, and rendered him essential service 
when he overwhelmed the army of St. Clair with the most appalling de- 
feat ever received by an American army from the hands of Indians. Three 
years afterward, when General Wayne invaded the Indian country, 
Little Turtle counseled submission; but was unable to convince his peo- 
ple of the wisdom of such a measure. Defeat was the result; and the 
Indians were obliged to accept such terms as the victors offered, which 
were to give up the fairest portions of their country. Nearly half the 
state of Ohio, and the land on which now stand the cities of Chicago and 
Detroit, were the spoils of the victors at the treaty of Greenville, that 
followed this defeat. Wells still remained with the Indians most of his 
time, although he sometimes visited his kindred. He was at Fort Wayne 



92 THE MOONLIGHT REPAST. 

Em. Henston, we're much indebted unto thee 
For entertainment on this evening sail. 

Han. With one accord we all agree in this ; 
Now let us moor our vessel by the shore, 
In. this secluded cove, and spread our lunch. 

Mary. Oh, do not land in that old haunted 

house ! 
Wil. It's just the place; — we want to see the 

ghosts. 
Win. They'll hardly trespass on our valiant 
group, 
For Henston is a mighty host himself; — 
Whose martial figure hardly will invite 
The captious goblins on a moonlit night. 

Mary. Well then, we'll land, escorted by the 
brave, 
Who from all harm our company will save. 

The boat is moored, and all step ashore with their 
lunch baskets, and seat themselves tinder the 
hemlock trees, where the ground is spread with 
a thick mat of their cast-off foliage — the accu- 
mulation of many years. Their lunch is 
spread, and they proceed to eat by the light of 
the moon. Pcrmilla is the prevailing spirit, 
whose impressibility seems to manifest itself by 
an unusual charm — all the more irresistible 

when the Pottawatomies gathered around Fort Dearborn, at Chicago, 
in 1812; and, hearing of the dangerous situation of the garrison, .at the 
head of a few Miami Indians hastened to its defense. He arrived in time 
to take part in the battle after the fort was evacuated, and was among 
the slain. After the battle Billy Caldwell, a Pottawatomie chief, who 
was well known to some of the present citizens of Chicago (1SS1), saw 
and recognized his head, severed from his body, and buried it in the sand 
This was the last of that noble-hearted man whose dust is now trampled 
upon by the citizens of Chicago, who know little of his native love for 
his fellow creatures. No monument marks his sepulcher, and history 
alone preserves his memory. Little Turtle's grave is near Fort Wayne; 
over which stands a modest tombstone erected by the United States 
Government. 



THE MOONLIGHT REPAST. 93 

for the sile7it force that gathers the group under 
her influence. A t first she speaks but little ; 
then gradually begins to enliven the company 
with an increased flow of gentle words, and 
finally gives vent to the following, — improvised 
as if by a supernatural power. She stood un- 
der the same tree, as she spoke, where, twenty-two 
years before, she had stood concealed from a 
frowning world — trembling between hope and 
despair ; but no mortal eye had ever pierced the 
secret of her soul: 

When night had hushed the busy cares of day, 
And nature slept beneath the moon's pale ray, 
A feeble cry of innocent despair 
Is faintly carried through the evening air; 
As when a cast-off flower before the wind 
Hath left its lonesome parent stalk behind 
To tempt the sport of fickle fortune's turn, 
To love and cherish, or to hate and spurn. 
And yet the accents of that feeble cry 
Pierces the vault of yonder star-lit sky ; 
There was a pathos in that feeble cry 
That angels felt and knew the reason why : 
For angel eyes can see with heavenly light 
The mortal heart that's humble and contrite. 
A tempest tossed bird upon the sea 
Far o'er the deep abyss beyond the lea ; 
An angel tossed a bark above its crest, — 
A haven for the little fledgling's rest. 

These words went deep into the heart of William 
and Sarah, who could fully appreciate them as 
far as their application to William, Jr., could 
be traced; but they knezv not the spirit that gave 
vent to them. Perhaps they came through the 



94 THE MOOOL1GHT REPAST. 

inspiration of some good angel that dallied 
round this hermitage. The seal of silence lent its 
impress to this feeling, and their hearts brimmed 
over with adoration for some invisible soul 
whose presence was felt in their midst. Where 
could it find an object to rest upon but Per- 
milla? Sarah threw her arms around her; 
William, Jr., caught the infection by sympathy > 
and tenderly embraced his two mothers. 
When the human soul is lifted to a giddy height 
above the common plain of life, a release must 
come by some transition. Permilla sought 
this ill the arms of her husband, where she took 
refuge in a waking dream; a reunion of the 
tender passions of youth now matured and 
refined into an abiding tranquillity : — 

As sweet as childish reveries are, 
Within a mother's tender care. 



CANTO IX. 

Moonlight sceiie under the old oak trees on the 
Church grounds. Wedding of Alfred and 
Grace, and William, Jr., and Lydia. A let- 
ter to be opened and read, which was written by 
The Old Man (Sarah's father) with a dying 
request that it should remain tmsealed twenty- 
five years, which time has now expired, and by 
common consent made the occasion of the wed- 
ding of the young affianced. 

\Guests assembled. 

Old revolutionary soldiers scaled on one side of a 
rustic altar, in which the minister stands. On 
the other side of the altar are seated William, 
Sr., Wilton, Sarah, Judson, and Henston, 
with their wives, hi front of the altar are t he 
two brideg rooms and brides. Outside of all these 
are the audience, who came by general i?ivitatio?i. 
After the marriage ceremony is over, Henston, 
by request, breaks the seal of The Old Man's 
letter, and reads as follows: 

All nature smiles when spring begins ; 
And warmer suns the victory wins 
O'er winter's cold and icy reign 
That spreads a pall upon the plain. 

Then earth takes on a livelier hue, • 

And heaven distills her pearly dew, 
And life and beauty crown the heath 
With o-enial summer's emerald wreath. 

95 



96 THE OLD MAN'S LEGACY. 

But autumn's touch these colors fade ; 
When fallen lies the grassy blade ; 
And seared and yellow is the leaf 
That rustles in the forest heath. 

Perennial flowers lay down to rest, 
Reposing on their mother's breast ; 
And beetles pierce the autumn turf, 
For shelter in their mother earth. 

Then all are hushed again to sleep, 
As winter o'er their bed shall creep, 
Till spring revives them once again 
To revel through a summer's reign. 

How perfect then is nature's hand, 
Through God's omniscient power planned ; 
To wake to life, and hush to death, 
With winter's touch and summer's breath ; 
To recreate with wondrous power 
What time and tide and change devour. 

And this is God's almighty plan 
To benefit his image' — man ! 
And who can measure all the joy 
These changes bring for our employ ? 

Affection's smiles, and passion's glow, 
From these conditions live and grow ; 
And should we never live again, 
Death would inspire a cold refrain ; 
But he who sends reviving spring, 
With nature's voice his praise to sing, 
Will not annihilate the soul — 
The choicest gem that crowns the whole. 

And higher still our thoughts shall rise, 
When flesh hath made its sacrifice, 



THE OLD MAN'S LEGACY. 97 

And mouldered once again to clay — 
The debt of nature's toils to pay. 

Between the heavens and the earth 

A mystery gathers from our birth; 

What is there in that starry maze — 

Along the welkin's sable haze, 

Where dreamy thoughts delight to dwell, 

Transported in a fairy spell — 

What visions flame the shadowy night, 

Revealing to our mortal sight 

What life on earth can ne'er bestow, 

In our pilgrimage below. 

We look to other worlds than ours 
To ornament our path with flowers ; 
And in our imagery we see 
Bright visions of eternity. 

Whate'er on earth is loveliest, 
Is there enthroned among the blest ; 
And revels there among the spheres 
Beyond the vale of sighs and tears. 

This must be true as nature's book, 

For when we in its pages look, 

In savage life or civilized, 

A heaven above is improvised 

Where earthly griefs are all condoned ; 

Or by redeeming love atoned. 

The Veda even teaches this 

By precept and antithesis ; 

And he is an iconoclast, 

To sympathy and pleasures lost, 

Who fain would cut the immortal thread 

By which the soul to heaven is led. 

7 



98 THE OLD MAN'S LEGACY. 

The bible teaches us the same, 
Through a Redeemer's holy name ; 
And Solomon and David sung, 
With wisdom's voice and silvery tongue, 
The just reward for virtue here 
Eternal in the future sphere. 

But whether this is so or not, 
What gain we in our earthly lot 
To turn against our fellow man 
And violate his Maker's plan ? 

Has virtue not her own reward ? — 
And is not every vice abhorred 
That love and innocence offends? — 
Or nature's perfect law transcends ? 

True, evil enters in the world, 

And vice is oft amongst us hurled ; 

But ignorance begets it all ; 

For, if we date from Adam's fall, 

A casuist would surely own 

They should have let the fruit alone 

For their own sakes, in Eden's bowers, 

Where pleasures chased the flying hours; 

And would — if they had known the fate 

That followed since they plucked and ate. 

Milton has told the story well, 
Of griefs that then the world befell ; 
But all his learning and his wit 
Has never solved the mystery yet 
By dogmas or by logic tried ; 
And with the bard have others vied 
In essays, and in faith's decrees, 
In sermons and in homilies — 
The fruits our first reformers bore, 
Venerable with early christian lore. 



THE OLD MAN'S LEGACY. 99 

These masters lived in days of thought, 
And to the cause their logic brought ; 
It stands unrivaled in our age 
By ministers, or bard, or sage ; 
And we accept the mystery, 
Bequeathed to us by their decree. 

But if we cannot answer why 
That evil thoughts our virtues try, 
This pretext should be no excuse 
Why we should authorize abuse 
Against our fellow creatures here, 
Who come within our daily sphere. 

And knowledge shows a better way 
To guide us, lest we go astray — 
In paths of peace, which justice knows, 
Where honor, grace and love repose. 

With one accord will all agree 
That thoughts will live immortally ; 
These are the products of the mind 
To future centuries consigned ; 
Diffusive ever, and unspent 
Throughout each earthly continent. 

And this is all of earthly. name 
That immortality can claim ; 
These are the soul of dying man — 
All he can leave to time's long span. 

The body mouldered into clay 
May clothe another soul some day, 
Or from its dust may grow a flower 
That blushes in a courtly bower. 

This is a part of God's design, 
In his economy divine — 



100 THE OLD MAN'S LEGACY. 

In change and evolution seen, 
Though ages each may roll between. 

His perfect law all nature fills, 
And compensates with good its ills ; 
Though oft unseen to mortal eyes, 
Vice ne'er escapes its sacrifice ; 
While God repays our virtues here 
In blessings in our earthly sphere ; — 
And vain the voice that speaks distrust, 
When God's and nature's laws are just. 
" Get knowledge — understanding get ;" 
These cure the ills which life beset. 

Thus spoke the patriarchal sage, 
Who crowned with wisdom his own age. 
This, children, is the legacy 
That I bequeath in love to thee. 

'Twill not corrupt with moth nor rust, 
But last till flesh shall turn to dust ; 
No thief from you this wealth can steal 
Ere death shall mark you with its seal. 

Then when you cross the flowing stream 
That earth and heaven rolls between, 
This is the oil your lamps shall fill, 
When tarry at our father's will 
The bridegroom and the heavenly bride, 
To meet you on the other side. 



CANTO X. 



Twentv-four miles below the falls, at Louisville, Salt river empties 
into the Ohio. Travel up this stream through its low valley between 
two bluffs till you come to Rolling fork, and thence up the latter till the 
little affluent of Knob creek is reached, and here, as its name indicates, 
vou reach the summit heights which form a part of the sources of the 
main river. As from some elevation you view the long range of bluffs 
that vanish into the southern sky, looking up this valley Muldrews 
Hill is conspicuous; and here it was that Lincoln's childhood, from 
his fourth to his eighth year, was spent along the waters of Knob 
creek; though the place of his birth was six miles to the south, near 
Hodgensville; where, says Mr. Lamon, " A few stones, tumbled down 
and lying about loose, still indicate the site of the mean and narrow 
tenement which sheltered the infancy of one of the greatest political 
chieftains of modern times." The date of his birth is February 12, 1809. 
On Muldrews Hill the scene of this Canto is laid. 

Within Kentucky's forest state, 

That nestles intermediate 

The North and Sunny South between, 

There grew a boy of rustic mien, 

In muscle strong-, and bold in heart; — 

Exempt from all deceptive art. 

By nature's hand the child was bred, 
Untutored in the ways that led 
To wealth or luxury or fame, 
Inherited by birth or name. 

He played amongst his comrades wild, 
The ruder sports that youth beguiled 
From burdens of a riper year 
That in the path of life appear ; 
As agfe the rising mind matures 
Till wisdom's ways success secures. 
101 



102 ABRAHAM'S GUARDIAN. 

One day he climbed the craggy crests, 
Where eagles build their sheltered nests 
Along the spurs of Muldrews Hill 
That overhung the shadowed rill, 
Whose face was dimpled by the springs 
That gush and leap in misty flings 
Through fissures in the dark ravine 
Beneath an arch of foliage green. 

And here he watched the night-hawk's flight, 

And saw the sun go down at night, 

As o'er the forest heights he stood, 

Gazing above the leafy wood 

That glittered there in colors bright 

Of evenings evanescent light. 

And soon the sun went down to rest 
Behind the crimson-clouded West ; 
The stars that softly shone in white 
Soon deepened into golden light ; — 

But lingered still the boy to gaze 
Upon the constellationed maze, 
And breathe the evening's mellow air, 
As if a charm had brought him there 
To hear the voices of the night 
That whisper on the summit's height. 

While in this mood, the spell-bound child 

Stood sentinel upon the wild ; 

A heavenly guardian chanced to fly 

Around the circuit of the sky, 

And saw him in his pensive glance, 

As if entoiled within a trance. 

'Twas the Old Man; whose spirit came, 
For still we'll call him by that name ; 
Although his flesh had turned to dust, 
His soul reposed in heavenly trust. 



ABRAHAM'S GUARDIAN. 103 

And often to the earth he flew, 
The scenes of mortal life to view, 
Concealed within the shades of night, 
That heavenly thoughts to us invite 
In silence from each voiceless world, 
That through ethereal space is hurled 
More swiftly than the lightning's flash, 
That from the clouds its thunders dash. 

The Old Man, like a fairy coy, 
In silence lingered round the boy 
Till he had touched a vital nerve, 
That made his will a purpose serve ; 
A coming destiny to fill, 
Maturing in the nation's will. 

This roused him from his reverie, 
Into his future years to see, 
In mortal life, some noble aim 
To memorize his earthly name. 

While with these inspirations wrought, 
Revolving in his inner thought, 
The boy his devious paths retraced 
Beneath the forest's leafy waste, 
Through which the moonbeam's golden ray 
In mottled radiance softly lay, 
And trembled with the leafy wreath 
That overspread the forest's heath, 
And bowed before the evening breeze 
That whispered through the forest trees. 

The Old Man traveled by his side, 
Voiceless, and still as eventide, 
When o'er the earth its shadows creep 
To hush the busy world to sleep. 

New life now kindled in the boy ; 
And far beyond his years of toy, 



104 ABRAHAM'S GUARDIAN. 

A quickened sense of honor came, 
And grew within his youthful frame. 

This pleased his heavenly guardian ; 
Who watched him as he grew a man, 
And led him through his youthful days, 
Unspotted in its devious ways, 
And charmed his destined earthy path 
With many a change that fortune hath 
In store for those whose matchless skill 
Can lead a nation's sanguine will 
through all the throes of keen desire, 
When conscience sets its heart on fire. 

Transcendent o'er the laws of man, 
This principle of truth began, 
From sacred inspiration sprung ; 
Its echoes fly from tongue to tongue, 
And circulate from mind to mind, 
In unity its strength to bind 
Intact in one stupendous whole; — 
The genius of the nation's soul. 

Rest, Abraham, beneath the shades 
That fringe the virgin forest glades 
That open to the sunny light 
The scanty fields of harvest white, 
Around the shades of Muldrews' crest, 
The home your childish footsteps prest. 
Rest there, beneath the heavenly care 
That justly numbers every hair 
That grows upon your youthful head, 
While through the maze of life you tread 
The care whose vigils can recall 
The wreck of worlds, the sparrow's fall — 
Whose measure of omnipotence, 
Virtue rewards with recompense. 



CANTO XI. 



The following is from the memorial address on the life and, character 
of Abraham Lincoln, delivered in the House of Representatives February 
12, 1866, by George Bancroft, which is here inserted as a fitting introduc- 
tion to the following Canto. 

" That God rules in the affairs of men is as certain as any truth of 
physical science. On the great moving power, which is from the be- 
ginning, hangs the world of the senses and the world of thought and ac- 
tion. Eternal wisdom marshals the great procession of the nations, 
working in patient continuity through the ages, never halting and never 
abrupt, encompassing all events in its oversight, and ever affecting its 
will, though mortals may slumber in apathy or oppose with madness. 
Kings are lifted up or thrown down, nations come and go, republics 
flourish and wither, dynasties pass away like a tale that is told, but noth- 
ing is by chance, though men, in their ignorance of causes, may think 
so. The deeds of time are governed as well as judged, by the decrees of 
eternity. The caprice of fleeting existences bends to the immovable om- 
nipotence, which plants its foot on all the centuries, and has neither 
change of purpose nor repose. Sometimes, like a messenger through the 
thick darkness of night, it steps along mysterious ways; but when the 
hour strikes for a people, or for mankind, to pass into a new form of be- 
ing, unseen hands draw the bolts from the gates of futurity ; an all-subdu- 
ing influence prepares the minds of men for the coming revolution; those 
who plan resistance find themselves in conflict with the will of providence 
rather than with human devices; and all hearts and all understandings, 
most of all the opinions and influences of the unwilling are wonderfully 
attracted and compelled to bear forward the change, which becomes more 
an obedience to the law of universal nature than submission to the arbit- 
rament of man. 

" In the fullness of time a republic rose up in the wilderness of Amer- 
ica. Thousands of years had passed away before this child of the ages 
could be born. From whatever there was of good in the systems of 
former centuries she drew her nourishment; the wrecks of the past were 
her warnings. With the deepest sentiment of faith fixed in her inmost 
nature, she disenthralled religion from bondage to temporal power, that 
her worship only in spirit and in truth. The wisdom which had passed 
from India through Greece, with what Greece had added of her own; 
the jurisprudence of Rome; the mediaeval municipalities; the Teutonic 
method of representation ; the political experience of England ; the benig- 
nant wisdom of the expositors of the law of nature and of nations in 
France and Holland, all shed on her their selectest influence. She washed 
the gold of political wisdom from the sands wherever it was found; she 
cleft it from the rocks; she gleaned it among ruins. Out of all the dis- 
coveries of statesmen and sages, out of all the experience of past human 

105 



106 ABRAHAM'S HOME. 



life, she compiled a perennial political philosophy, the primordial princi- 
ples of national ethics. The wise men of Europe sought the best gov- 
ernment in a mixture of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy; America 
went behind these names to extract from them the vital elements of social 
forms, and blend them harmoniously in the free commonwealth which 
comes nearest to the illustration of the natural equality of all men. She 
intrusted the guardianship of established rights to law, the movements of 
reform to the spirit of the people, and drew her force from the happy re- 
conciliation of both. 

"The choice of America fell on a man born west of the AUeghanies 
in the cabin of the poor people of Hardin county, Kentucky, — Abraham 
Lincoln. 

"His mother could read, but not write; his father could do neither; 
but his parents sent him with an old spelling book to school, and he 
learned in his childhood to do both. 

" When eight years old he, with his father and all their possessions, 
went to the shore of Indiana; and, child as he was, he gave help as they 
toiled through dense forests to the interior of Spencer county. There in 
the land of free labor, he grew up in a log cabin, with the solemn solitude 
for his teacher in his meditative hours. 

"Of Asiatic literature he knew only the Bible; of Greek, Latin, and 
mediaeval, no more than the translation of ^Esop's Fables; of English, 
John Bun van's ' Pilgrim's Progress.' The traditions of George Fox and 
William Perm passed to him dimly along the lines of two centuries 
through his ancestors, who were Quakers. Otherwise his education was 
altogether American. The Declaration of Independence was his com- 
pendium of political wisdom, the ' Life of Washington' his constant study, 
and something of Jefferson and Madison reached him through Henry 
Clay, whom he honored from boyhood. For the rest, from day to day, 
he lived the life of the American people, walked in its light, reasoned 
with its reason, thought with its power of thought, felt the beatings of its 
mighty heart, and so was in every way a child of nature, a child of the 
West, a child of America." 

The scene of this Canto is laid in Perry county, Indiana, now Spen- 
cer countv. 



A little glade within the forest green, 
Upon a gentle rise of ground is seen, 
Beside the margin of the forest road ; 
And in the opening a cabin stood. 

Here Abraham came in youth's expanding pith, 
Amidst the spoils and amplitudes wherewith 
The early pioneer his years employed, 
By all luxurious vices unalloyed. 

The youth was busy with his daily care, 
The acres wild for culture to prepare, 



THE MOTHER. 107 

And clear the farm the yellow corn to yield, 
Or blossom with the flax the flowery field. 

The era of log cabins in the West, 
When settlers' feet the virgin forest prest, 
Was, in the march of westward empire's way, 
The most distinctive period of its day. 

Here the young nation's late fledged wings were 

stretched ; 
Here were its growing bones and sinews fetched ; 
Its youthful strength, its nervous force here spent, 
And here its growing mind first took its bent 
Amidst the wilds of nature's broad domain, 
Majestic spread along the fallow plain. 

One clay there hither came a bride mature * 
A life of pioneering to endure, 
Which sweetened by the mother love she bore 
To Abraham— just spoken of before- 
Atoned for many unsupplied demands 
Expected from a mindful husband's hands. 

Her cabin lacked the comfort of a floor, 
And all its light came through the open door, 
Or filtered through an oily-paper sheet, 
A radiance dim its inmate's eye to greet. 

The bride when introduced to such a place 
Concealed her inward smart at the disgrace, 
For she was bred beneath a kindlier roof; 
But yet against these trials she was proof. 

* Abraham's mother had died two years after their emigration to In- 

Abraham was Sfo? the inducements that made her consent to marry 

his father. 



108 THE FALL EX OAK. 

At her request a puncheon floor* was made, 

And in the cabin walls was neatly laid ; 

The window-frames with glass were soon supplied, 

While other comforts crowned the fireside; 

Thanks to the labor of her willing hands 

Put forth to execute her prudent plans. 

Young Abraham though awkward in his ways 
Possessed a gentle heart above all praise ; 
And loved this second mother more and more, 
As pleasantly her toilsome lot she bore, 
And oft his labors in her service spent, 
Were filial proofs of his devout intent, f 

When metamorphosed thus their forest cot 

By wonders which industrious hands had wrought, 

One day, as evening's shadows lengthened fast, 

Before a carriage that was driving past, 

Fell a large oak across the traveled path, 

As if an angry whirlwind in its wrath 

* A puncheon floor is made of logs split into halves, laid flat side up- 
wards, the joint being matched with a broad-axe, and the surface smoothed 
with an adz. 

t Says Mr. Lamon, the biographer of Abraham Lincoln, in speaking 
of his father's second wife (step-mother to Abraham from the age of nine 
years): * * * " She set about mending what was amiss with all 
her strength and energy. Her own goods furnished the cabin with tol- 
erable decency. She made Lincoln put down a floor, and hang windows 
and doors. It was in the depth of winter, and the children, as they nestled 
in the warm beds she provided, enjoying the strange luxury of security 
from the cold winds of December, must have thanked her from the bot- 
tom of their newly comforted hearts. She had brought a son and two 
daughters of her own, John, Sarah, and Matilda, but Abe and his sister, 
Nancy (whose name was speedily changed to Sarah), the ragged and 
hapless little strangers to her blood, were given an equal place in her af- 
fections. They were half naked, and she clad them from the stores of 
clothing she had laid up for her own. * * * * In her own 
modestlanguage, she ' made them look more human.' She was a woman 
of great energy, of remarkable good sense, very industrious and saving, 
and also very neat and tidy in her person and manners, and knew exactly 
how to manage children. She took an especial liking to young Abe. 
Her love for him was warmly returned, and continued to the day of his 
death. * * * When in after years Mr. Lincoln spoke of his 
' saintlv mother,' and of his ' angel mother,' he referred to this noble 



STRANGE GUESTS. 109 

Had hurled the monster to the trembling ground, 

Recoiling dumbly under its rebound. 

Its fall a marvel was to mortal eyes ; 

And those who saw beheld it with surprise. 

As Fate had willed it, Abraham was there 

With ready hand, to help the traveling pair 

So suddenly arrested on their way 

Just at the closing of the fleeting day ; 

The mother soon appearing to invite 

The unexpected guests to spend the night. 

Now all is bustle at the strange event 

By which distinguished visitors were sent 

To their abode, its frugal board to share ; 

And soon the mother's dextrous hands prepare 

A supper, tempting to the appetite, 

Spread on a home-made cloth of matchless white. 

The bread was made from corn, and sweet to taste ; 
The meat was venison, shot from nature's waste, 
With water-cresses from the limpid spring 
Which there spontaneous grew for gathering ; 
And honey taken from the forest's trees — 
Delicious product of the native bees ; 
While grapes and mulberries and haw,* 
And other fruits the native forest saw, 
In rich profusion crowned the evening feast, 
Seasoned with welcome — last but not the least 
Attraction found within the forest cot, 
Which oft in vain through luxury is sought. 

Do not forget for strangers to prepare, 
For sometimes in them angels unaware f> 

* Not the red, but the black haw. It was a sweet fruit that grew on 
a shrub about ten feet high. The mulberry grew on a medium sized 
tree. It resembled a blackberry in shape. 

t Hebrews, chap. xiii. 



HO STRANGE GUESTS. 

Are hidden in the flesh, through this disguise ; 
As messengers that heaven to earth supplies ; 
For who can tell how angels lead the will — 
The purposes of heaven to fulfill ? 

These guests were William, junior, and his wile, 
Lydia, the artist, she whose wedded life 
Thus far had in the forest wilds been spent 
To give the rising mind a virtuous bent ; 
The two were missionaries full of zeal, 
The school to plant to guard the public weal. 

Two other guests now came the cot within ; 
'Twas Henry, with his Gheezhigneenwateen ; 
Strangers they were, but yet no cold reserve 
Clouded the group some selfish end to serve, 
But on a mission of benevolence, 
Each guest gave vent to gentle words of sense. 

Henry and William with a charm possessed, 
Begat a mutual friendship in each breast, 
Harmonious in its calm, impressive sphere, 
That shed its light to all assembled here. 

The noble mother felt her strength renew 
By sweet communion in the interview, 
That in her loneliness a chasm filled — 
As if an angel had their visit willed. 

And Abraham beheld each honored guest 
As if by inspiration's light possessed — 
Akin to what he felt when but a child 
Alone he climbed the crest of Muldrews' wild. 

Now twilight gray had turned to somber night ; 

* o 

The soaring hawk had rested from his flight, 
And canvased tents are pitched, in which each guest 
Repaired the day's fatigue with grateful rest. 



THE CHARM. Ill 

When Morpheus had enwrapt them in his arms, 
The Old Man's spirit came with sacred charms ; 
But first to Abraham he softly came, 
To keep alive in him the living flame 
That burned within the bosom of the child 
Since first he- saw him on the crested wild. 

Then to the mother's couch he silent flew, 
To warm her noble heart with love anew 
For Abraham — the humble child of Fate, 
That Destiny had marked to rule the state. 

Now stealthily the sacred charm is sent 
To fill the air within each sleeping tent — 
When every inmate's mind began to dream, 
And heavenly visions through their senses teem. 

Henry beheld in William his own son ; 

And felt again the love that first begun 

The desolations of his path to cheer 

With hope — too soon to die with frenzied fear. 

The forest wild then stood before his eyes ; 
His heart a wreck — his life a sacrifice; 
Then Gheezhioneenwateen before him came, 
A hapless victim to the tender flame, 
When sympathy invites the wreckful pair 
Their fortunes in this life in love to share. 

Both dreamed the same ; and when they wakeful 

grew, 
Again their hearts are warmed with love anew. 

Now o'er the couch of William subtly crept 
Celestial visions as the couple slept ; 
At first their mortal eyes were made to see 
An angel pushing down the fallen tree 
That yesterday before their vision fell, 
As if prostrated by an unknown spell. 



112 THE FLT 

This done, the rustic figure of a youth 
Before them stood — the champion of truth ; 
'Twas Abraham ; whose patriarchal name 
Gave hopeful earnest of a future fame. 

And in their dreams there seemed some great design; 
That made them, when the morning came, incline 
To greet again the tall, untutored boy, 
Ingenuous in his speech, in manners coy. 

And Lydia, thus impressed, her canvas drew, 
And quickly on it sketched before his view 
A fio-ure ; showing justice true, but blind ; 
With balanced scales to weigh what it defined. 

This done, by way of charm, she paints a fly ; 
Lit on the scales, illusive to the eye, 
And to the youth the hasty picture gives — 
Ideal of the soul where virtue lives. 

Soon came the mother ; and a motion made 
To scare the fly away from where it laid. 

" The fly's too tame;" then shouted Abraham ; 
" He's only ' playing 'possum' — just for sham : 
Suppose to paint a wilder one you try ? 
Then, mother, when you brush at him he'll fly." 

Pleased at the joke, the company all smiled 
To see the wit of the precocious child ; 
Then Lydia from her satchel drew a book; 
And gave the youth to in its pages look, 
To fill the interludes between his cares, 
In learning what the youthful mind prepares 
In later years to fill a broader field — 
Perhaps the helm of state to ably wield. 

Pending this dalliance, Gheezhiomeenwateen 
Sat musing pensively upon the scene : 



THE MANITOU. 113 

Impressed with reverence in her inner view, 
She felt the presence of a Manitou* 
Whose voice was singing through the forest trees, 
Some fairy tale the listening ear to please. 

And in its harmony she faintly hears 
The angel voices from the heavenly spheres, 
Speaking the name of her beloved son ; 
Without her tender care his life be^un. 

And then a charm, the spirit to appease, 
That hung unseen among the forest trees, 
She gives to William ; in whose natural face 
She sees her honored husband's manly grace, 

And thus addressed him when she gave the toy : 

" William, I am the mother of a boy 

Whose wandering footsteps fickle fortune led 

To old Muskingum's banks ; there to be bred 

Among the customs of the conquering race 

That, through the right of conquest, take our place. 

Can you to him convey this sacred charm ? 
The toy may save him from some threatened harm ; 
With Henston, lives the child (well known to fame), 
Among his kindred he's an honored name." 

A quiet calm the mother now possessed, 
Obedient to the Manitou's request. 

William, surprised her simple tale to hear, 
Which spoke of those who were to him so dear, 
Promised in faith the mission to fulfill, 
In harmony with her maternal will ; 

* An Indian spirit. Longfellow, in " Hiawatha," spells it Manito, ac- 
cording to the Ojibwa pronunciation, but most of the Algonquin tribes 
pronounce it Manitou, the evidence of which may be found from the fact 
that La Hontan and other early French writers spell it thus. 



114 THE PARTING. 

And, in the presence of the company, 
Received the token on his bended knee ; — 
A mark of reverence to the offering due 
From a maternal heart to virtue true. 

Now Henry presses William to his breast 
With a mysterious love that each confessed ; 
Unknown the reason why that it should rise, 
And destined to remain a strange surprise. 

When sacred friendship meets, 'tis sad to part ; 
Though brief, its toils will cling around the heart 
Some kindly words, and looks of kindlier cast, 
Some lingering thoughts as parting moments last 
Good-bye, repeated oft and once again, 
As hands clasp hands while sympathies remain ; 
These were the partings on the following morn, 
When light and forest shade the glebe adorn. 



CANTO XII. 

William and Lydia now returned again 

To old Muskingum's undulating plain; 

Their welcome home with double pleasure smiled, 

In contrast with the distant border wild. 

And first, the faithful William promptly went 
To Henston's house to give the token sent 
To Swan — the child of Gheezhicrneenwateen ; 
By which the Indian mother's love was seen. 

With filial thanks the child the gift received 
As an inheritance to him bequeathed 
From her whose love he ever had been taught 
Should constant live in his reflective thought. 

And though the lad had now to manhood grown, 
Love for his race was bred within his bone, 
To grow and gather strength as year on year 
With all their changes in his path appear. 

We'll overleap a brief hiatus now, 
While time is making furrows round the brow 
Of Henston, William, Alfred, and their wives — 
The marks of honor due to virtuous lives. 

While changes thus had been progressing fast, 
Full three decades of flying time had past 
Since their first advent to the distant West, 
From the sweet homes their infant footsteps prest. 

Part of their children had to manhood grown ; 
In all their minds their parents' virtues shone, 



116 THE FAIRIES. 

And in the interests of the growing West 
Their sympathies by birthright were possessed. 

And while these children grew to manhood's prime 
Within the bounty of a western clime, 
Cities and towns into existence sprung 
The fertile western wilderness among. 

From every eastern hamlet hither came 
Experts in handicraft of every name ; 
While freedom was the genius of each mind, 
With industry and patriotism combined. 

While these accomplishments grew in the land, 
And in its growing youthful heart expand, 
A counterpoise to freedom's lot is cast; 
And faintly on the ear the angry blast 
Portentous comes before the southern breeze 
Like a dread earthquake in the trembling seas. 

When night in quietude is reigning round, 
And naught is heard except the creaking sound 
Of crickets in their tedium of sono\ 
In unremitting vigils shrill and loner 
The Fairies gather on the village green ; 
And round they fly in subtle forms unseen, 
While with their chimes the fields and forest ring; 
Unheard by mortal ears they shout and sing. 

One night they came, as oft they'd come before, 
To hold their revels round the cottage door 
Where slept Permilla, to inspire her dreams, 
And lead her in the path where pleasure gleams. 
When one coy Fairy through the keyhole crept, 
And found the chamber where Permilla slept ; 
Then hovering round her couch disarmed the spell 
That made her deaf to what the Fairies tell, 



THE FAIRIES. W{ 

And hied him back among the unwitting Fays 
To sing in secret their prophetic lays. 

FIRST FAIRY. 

Ten boys were playing on the green to-day 
Accoutred in a uniform of gray ; 
And valiantly they charged the mimic foe, 
Who, like themselves, stood in a martial row 
Like hostile armies on the battle plain, 
Their country's cause and honor to sustain. 
The charge was fierce, and tenor voices high 
Yelled out they'd win the field or bravley die ; 
And hand to hand the troopers young engage, 
And with a wrestle now the battle wage; 
Most stubbornly the youngsters' muscles strain 
Goodnaturedly the tested field to gain ; 
For neither wished to turn the limber heel 
And tarnish all the honor that they feel. 
In this extremity I interpose 
Among the tired little wrestling foes, 
And stealthily I hurl upon the ground 
The boastfulest that in their ranks is found ; 
This turned the fickle fortune of the day 
And gave the victory in the heated fray 
Where modest merit in her strength retires 
In silence from the battle's hostile fires. 
Ah ! little knew the children of this fight 
That soon a contest to decide the right 
Would fan the burning flames of real strife 
In which one of these boys should lose his life. 

SECOND FAIRY. 

Oh fie ! Oh fie ! to talk of battle's fray 
When quiet reigns along our flowery way ! 
For Cupid we will work and not for Mars, 
Who frowns upon us from the evil stars. 



118 THE FAIRIES. 

FIRST FAIRY. 

Yes, Sister Fay, for Cupid we will sing, 
And to his altar still our offerings bring ; 
But if grim Mars we never can appease, 
And if he frowns when we attempt to please, 
In vain our arts against his might we ply , 
In vain we sing, in vain to him we cry; 
For what are we against his powerful arm 
Transcendent raised above our feeble charm, 
When nations follow in his bloody wake, 
And fields beneath the tramp of armies shake? 

THIRD FAIRY. 

Well, let him have his reign, 'twill only last 
While vengeful blows the bugle's angry blast ; 
Then peace will follow in her happy train, 
And we shall sing once more the soft refrain 
Above the bloody fields of battle's strife, 
And taste again the sweets of social life. 

ALL THE FAIRIES. 

Then flash the brilliant saber, 
Ye valiant boys in blue ; 
While with the pains of labor 
The nation groans anew. 

And tramp the fields of glory, 
As onward still ye go, 
And shout the battle story, 
Till vanquished is the foe. 

Then comes the day of ransom, 
When soft the bugle's strain, 
And home is dear, and handsome 
The hearth-stone — once so plain. 

And now with plenty brimming 
Your basket and your store, 



THE SENSUOUS DREAM. 119 

The ship of state you're trimming 
To sail as e'er before. 

And then again we'll muster 
Around the cottage door ; 
And treasures there will cluster 
When war shall be no more. 

The soft melody of the Fairy song had ceased, 
and Permilla awoke. Every word they sung she re- 
membered. Was it a dream ? If so, it was a sensuous 
one. A divination into the future — thought Per- 
milla ; and yet some mysterious reason, unknown 
even to herself, put the seal of silence upon her lips ; 
and, in secret, she saw in her vivid imagination the 
bullets pierce the bodies of the soldiery, the crimson 
stream, the groan, heard the last whisper of some 
loved name, and saw the last quiver in death's em- 
brace. Then came the triumphant yells of the vic- 
tors, the flight of the vanquished, the pursuit, the 
night bivouac, the hospital, the tears of a loved one 
safely passed through the enemy's lines to win from 
death a lover, or press his cold hand when the last 
agony came. This patomime haunted her day and 
night — till again she heard a Fairy song of consola- 
tion in her sleep. 

Two forces through all nature run ; 
And ever since the world begun, 
Have balanced up the slow arrears, 
That on the balance sheet appears 
Against the rectitudes of man, 
Whose actions, God alone can scan. 

And when the griefs of life are past, 
And safe in heaven your lot is cast, 
Then you shall see the good and ill 
That human destinies fulfill ; 



120 PERM ILL A. 

Though oft in hidden footsteps trod 
The path that marks the will of God. 

Permilla's mind soon settled into a quiet calm. 
She was aged, but the tender emotions of youth 
had never forsken her ; and from beneath her locks 
of gray went forth a glow of sympathy that drew 
around her the most precious associations of life. 
To all others she was a stranger. 

The evils that roll over the great ocean of hu- 
manity were only known to her in the distance far 
away ; for it seemed impossible that they could exist 
in her presence, where all was harmony and conso- 
lation and peace. No other influences could live 
where she dwelt, any more than the finny tribe could 
play on the mountain tops. Hers was an earthly 
throne of grace, at the foot of which the- heart of 
haughty ambition toned into veneration and humil- 
ity before her power — mysterious as it was uncon- 
scious to herself. 

In the physical forms of the vegetable kingdom 
we see the huge trunk supporting the mistletoe, the 
sweet scented parasite whose tendrils pierce the 
hide of the monster and crown its deformity with 
beauty. So is it in the world of thought ; in all 
its ambitions, passions, and affections, its contend- 
ing emotions, deep and impressive, good and bad, 
it is the magic power of the mind that is the crown- 
ing glory of all. 

Wealth, unaccompanied with social graces, wraps 
itself up in a panoply of selfishness, and bidding 
defiance to the world, lies down and dies for the 
benefit of its sycophants. This is the lower grada- 
tion of the social world, above which the mistress 
or master of human affections soars like an angel, 
invulnerable to earthly ills and when the old casket 



PERM ILL A. 121 

that holds their jewels of thought is worn out, the 
gates are thrown wide open, through which the 
higher forms of life are reached immortal. 

After Permilla's dream she seemed gifted with a 
new power. Calmly she moved around in her ac- 
customed sphere, carrying along with her a little 
world of tranquillity that made everybody around 
her happy. The power of a queen and the inno- 
cence of a child were so fittingly blended in her, that 
whoever stood before her felt a consciousness that 
she could pierce the secrets of their soul ; and at the 
same time a confidence in her fidelity to cover them 
with a veil of charity, if they needed it. 

Lightly the earth, her gentle footsteps prest, 
Towards the brink of Time's revolving tide ; 
In peace and quietude her soul possessed, 
Till o'er its wave she sees the other side. 



CANTO XIII. 

'Twas autumn, when the sun was low, 
The western sky was in a glow, 
And forest shades were lengthening slow 
Alonor the fields of harvesting. 

The birds had gathered now in flocks, 
The ripened wheat was in the shocks, 
And leafless stood the withered stalks 
Of summer's growth perennial. 

The boys were busy in the fields 
To gather in their annual yields, 
And each his flashing sickle wields 
Against the yellow cereal. 

And now alone the winding lead, 
So somber with the frosted reed, 
Permilla ambling on her steed 
Appears among the harvesters. 

Each on the earth his sickle threw, 
And gently to her presence drew 
With all the courtesy they knew, 
To pay to her allegiance. 

These lads were William's youngest sons ; 
Whose fortune through the story runs, 
And since their growth from little ones 
Were taught to love Permilla. 

122 



THE ANGEL'S WARNING. 123 

Well pleased were they to see her there ; 
To in their work an interest share, 
Or teach them with a mother's care 
By precept and example. 

Now bowed each lad his willing head, 
A few good words the matron said, 
And from the fidld her way she led 
In tranquil meditation. 

And as she from the field withdrew 
Ten thousand Fairies round her flew ; 
Unheard, unseen to mortal view, 
As round her way they hovered. 

Outside this group of flying Fays, 
Two angels in the mystic maze 
In silence on Permilla gaze, 
As slowly she retired. 

When upward turns Perm ilia's eye 
She sees the Fairies round her fly ; 
And hears the angel voices cry 
Beyond the group of Fairies. 

They call her o'er the peaceful stream 
That earth and heaven rolls between, 
And verifies the happy dream 
That crowns the life eternal. 

Calmly Permilla's upward gaze 
Beheld the welkin in a blaze — 
The twilight of her earthly days 
With golden hues resplendent. 

" From earth to heaven ere you fly, 
Go speak the gentle word, good-by" ; — 
Said angel voices from on high, 
When bowed the o-ood Permilla. 



124 THE LAST PARTING. 

And toward the house of William bent — 
Her pilgrimage so nearly spent; 
Happy and peacefully she went 
To take her leave of William. 

Lest heaven's will she should reveal, 
Her careful words the truth conceal, 
As fast the parting moments steal 
O'er time and sense now fleeting. 

She longed to clasp him as her son ; 
Still prudence to her rescue clung, 
And put the seal upon her tongue, 
Till heaven should loose the bondage. 

Her hand upon his head she laid, 
And with a mother's heart conveyed 
In spirit what her tongue forbade, 
And gave her parting blessing. 

Then homeward turned her thoughtful way, 
A farewell tribute there to pay, 
Where all her earthly treasures lay. 
Which she must soon surrender. 

" Dear Henston," said the loving wife, 
" Your tenderness has made my life 
A living stream of nuptial joy — 
Exempt from all the rough alloy 
That tarnishes the marriage cup, 
When gilded visions fill it up 
With vanities that fade away 
Like vapors in the morning ray. 

The path to happiness is free ; 
And far less difficult to see 
Than are the complicated snares 
That fill the path of peace with cares ; 



THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 125 

To grasp at some illusive height 
That vanishes beyond the sight, 
As lengthened are the flying years, 
And youth is left in past arrears. 

If worthy deeds our lives endow, 

Then age may crown our wrinkled brow 

With peace and consolation true, 

As heaven is dawning on our view; 

And calmly as a night's repose, 

Our earthly pilgrimage will close. 

While thus Permilla spake, she saw 
The Fairies round her presence draw 
To shield her from the angel's scythe, 
Who orathers oft the mortal tithe 
From every shore and every clime, 
To pay its debt to rolling time. 

And nearer still the angel came ; 
And brighter glowed the heavenly flame 
That round her like a nimbus shone, 
Celestial from the sacred throne. 

Slowly she winged her way along 
Amidst the jealous Fairy throng, 
Who still around Permilla cluno- 
With plaintive voice and silvery tongue, 
To flincr about some subtle charm 
To stay the angel's lifted arm. 

In vain their murmuring voices cried, 
In vain with heavenly power they vied; 
The angel touched Permilla's form, 
And silent grew the current warm 
Which fed a palpitating heart 
That never knew a sinful art. 



CANTO XIV. 



The following bit of hislorv is copied from Lamon's "Life of Abra- 
ham Lincoln," p. 36, etc., as a fitting introduction to this Canto: 

" Abe never went to school again in Indiana or elsewhere. Mr. 
Turnham tells us that he had excelled all his masters, and it was 'no 
use' for him to attempt to learn anything from them. But he continued 
his studies at home, or wherever he was hired out to work, with a per- 
severance which showed that he could scarcely live without some species 
of mental excitement. Abe loved to lie under a shade-tree, or up in the 
loft of the cabin, and read, cvpher, and scribble. At night he sat by the 
chimney 'jamb' and cyphered, by the light of the fire, on the wooden 
fire shovel. When the shovel was fairly covered, he would shave it oif 
with Tom Lincoln's drawing-knife, and begin again. In the day-time 
he used boards for the same purpose, out of doors, and went through the 
shaving process everlastingly. His step-mother repeats often, that ' he 
read every book he could lay his hands on.' She says ' Abe read dili- 
gently. He read every book he could lay his hands on; and, when he 
came across a passage that struck him, he would write it down on boards 
if he had no paper, and keep it there until he did get paper. Then he 
would rewrite it, look at it, repeat it. He had a copy book, a kind of 
scrap-book, in which he put down all things, and thus preserved them.' 

"John Hanks came out from Kentucky when Abe was fourteen 
years of age, and lived four years with the Lincolns. We cannot de- 
scribe some of Abe's habits better than John has described them for us: 
'When Lincoln — Abe and I — returned to the house from work, he 
would go to the cupboard, snatch a piece of cornbread, take down a book, 
sit down in a chair, cock his legs up high as his head, and read. He and I 
worked barefooted, grubbed it, plowed, mowed, and cradled together; 
plowed corn, gathered it, and shucked corn. Abraham read constantly 
when he had an opportunity.' Among the books upon which Abe 'laid 
his hands,' were '^Esop's Fables,' ' Robinson Crusoe,' Bunyan's ' Pil- 
grim's Progress,' a ' History of the United States,' and Weems' ' Life of 
Washington.' All these he read many times, and transferred extracts 
from them to the boards and the scrap-book. He had procured the scrap- 
book because most of his literature was borrowed, and he thought it 
profitable to take copious notes from the books before he returned them. 

" At home, with his step-mother and the children, he was the most 
agreeable fellow in the world. ' He was always ready to do everything 
for everybody.' When he was not doing some special act of kindness, 
he told stories or 'cracked jokes.' He was full of his yarns in Indiana as 
ever he was in Illinois.' Dennis Hanks was a clever hand at the same 
business, and so was old Tom Lincoln. Among them they must have 
made things very lively during the long winter evenings for John John- 
ston and the good old lady and the girls. 

" Mrs. Lincoln was never able to speak of Abe's conduct to her with- 

126 



YOUNG ABRAHAM. 127 

out tears. In her interview with Mr. Herndon, when the sands of her 
life had nearly run out, she spoke with deep emotion of her own son, but 
said she thought that Abe was kinder, better, truer than the other. Even 
the mother's instinct was lost as she looked back over those long years 
of poverty and privation in the Indiana cabin, where Abe's grateful love 
softened the rigors of her lot, and his great heart and giant frame were 
always at her command. ' Abe was a poor boy,' said she, ' and I can say 
what scarcely one woman — a mother — can say in a thousand, Abe never 
gave me a cross word or look, and never refused, in fact or appearance, 
to do anything I requested him. I never gave him a cross word in all 
my life His mind and mine — what little I had — seemed to run to- 
gether. He was here after he was elected President (at this point the 
aged speaker turned away to weep, and then wiping her eyes with her 
apron, went on with the story). He was dutiful to me always. I think 
he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who was raised with Abe. Both 
were good boys; but I must say, both now being dead, that Abe was the 
best boy I ever saw or expect to see. I wish I had died when my hus- 
band died. I did not want Abe to run for President; did not want him 
elected ; was afraid somehow, — felt in my heart ; and when he came down 
to see me, after he was elected President, I still felt that something told 
me that something would befall Abe, and that I should see him no more.' 
Is there anything in the language we speak more touching than that 
simple plaint of the woman whom we must regard as Abraham Lincoln's 
mother? The apprehension in her 'heart' was well grounded. She 
' saw him no more.' When Mr. Herndon rose to depart, her eyes again 
filled with tears; and, wringing his hands as if loath to part with one who 
talked so much of her beloved Abe, she said, 'Good-by, my good son's 
friend. Farewell.'" 

The youth still plied his daily toil, 
To chop the trees and till the soil ; 
But in his hours of needed rest 
His mind was in his books possessed. 

And while the towering forest oaks 
Fell under his repeated strokes, 
Chitty's and Blackstone's volumes laid 
Beside him in the forest shade. 

These were the pastime of his hours 
To discipline his mental powers; 
And thus he grew a rustic man, 
Par excellence, in limb and span; 
Brimming with nature's comely grace, 
Reflected through his sfenial face, 
Transcendent o'er his awkward ways 
That marked him in his childhood days. 



128 WAR CLOUDS. 

As years advanced his talents grew, 
Till all the cares of state he knew — 
Secreted in his rising mind, 
With jocularity combined, 
Adapted to the popular heart 
When he should act his destined part 

A turmoil now throughout the land 
Disturbed the work our fathers planned ; 
From far and near and all around, 
There comes a threatening, murmuring 

sound ; 
And every tongue is bold and strong 
And eager to avenge a wrong. 

Who now can tell the destined end 
That heaven shall through these discords 

send ? 
By its decrees the plan was known, 
And by its fiat must be shown. 

For who on earth the future sees 
Through the dark veil of mysteries 
That shadows every human eye 
That's born to live and learn and die ? 

And did we know the end of life, 
Then neither harmony nor strife 
Could nerve the arm or soothe the soul, 
As changeless o'er our heads they'd roll. 

When the Old Man to earth was sent, 
His mission was through heaven's intent; 
To him was given the sacred power 
To choose the man to meet the hour. 

Full half a century before, 
He'd dallied on the grassy shore 



THE CHICAGO WIGWAM. 129 

Where Michigan's blue waters lave 
The western beach that greets its wave. 

There met two little placid streams; 
That mirrored evening's moonlight beams, 
And then they slow and softly creep 
Together to the rolling deep.* 

Here, mused the Old Man, is the spot 
Where freedom's hosts shall cast their lot 
In solemn council, to restore 
The fruits our Declaration bore. 

And here a consecrated seed 
He plants to fruit in time need; 
And on the spot a temple rose,f 
Defiant to rebellious foes. 

And when the council in it met, 
Though subtle wiles its fires beset, 
It chose the naive and honest man 
To act as freedom's champion ; 
Whose walk in life had only known 
The way that heavenly light had shown, 
Since, in his childish dalliance, 
The Old Man charmed him in a trance, 
When over Muldrews' heights he stood 
Gazing above the leafy wood; 
And trained him up to fill a place 
To liberate a servile race. 

When all the hopes of peace expire, 
Behold a nation's youthful fire 

* The topography of Chicago is here given, as it was in a state of 
nature as "late as 1820. 

t The Chicago Wigwam, in which Abraham Lincoln was nominated 
in 1S60 as candidate for President of the United States. It was built by 
subscription for that express purpose. 
9 



130 THE CONFLICT. 

Gird on its armor for the fight ; 
Each faction to defend the right, 
As each the tangled issue saw, 
Through justice, or the forms of law. 

The forum, press, and pulpit rose, 
And threw the challenge to their foes 
Respectively, as each forswears 
Devotion to their state's affairs. 

And youth by thousands take the field, 
The sword for freedom's cause to wield; 
The battle's pitched on many a plain, 
And thousands number with the slain. 
And still the conflict rages more, 
As gushing flows the crimson gore ; 
And thus the bloody issue hung, 
While vengeance breathes from every tongue; 
And gleams from every flashing eye 
That meets the foe to win or die. 

A million men are in the field ; 

And still the end is unrevealed, 

But trembles in the equal fight 

That's waged between the wrong and right. 

What use of valor can be made, 
When soldiers draw the battle blade, 
Unless the higher law supplies 
The altar for the sacrifice ? 

How many valiant youth shall fall 
Where battle spreads its fatal pall, 
Till justice turns the trembling scale; 
And makes the cause of right prevail ? 

But yet again the nation strives 
Unmindful of the soldiers' lives, 



PERMILLAS LETTER. 131 

To save the Union as of yore, 
With all the fruits that slavery bore. 

And war's alarms and havoc spread, 

While march the living o'er the dead; 

And bullets his.s, and sabers flash, 

As onward still the armies dash 

Into the jaws of instant death, 

With vengeance streaming in each breath. 

When vain illusions seize the brain, 
What virtue can restore again 
Repose to a distempered mind, 
Alike to grace and justice blind, 
Till God shall raise his chastening hand 
To make his subjects understand 
The higher law that circumvents 
All evil laws of man's intents? 

But while in heaven the decree 
To loose the bonds of slavery 
Had been within its councils made 
Before its fiat is conveyed 
To Abraham's reflecting mind, 
Behold him to its will resigned, 
Sitting alone in pondering mood 
In the relief of solitude ; 
When, gently tapping at his door, 
The usher to his presence bore 
A letter with a time-worn seal ; 
As if its contents might reveal 
A plan, his wavering steps to guide, 
When justice still the state defied. 

A man of sober thought and years 

Had held the same through time's arrears; 

It was a family heritage 

That Henston's wife, mature with age, 



132 THE REVELATION. 

Presented as a gift to Swan, 

To keep when she from earth had gone. 

It told of what an angel said 

In visions hovering o'er her head, 

When gentle night had come again, 

And in her mind a calm refrain 

Saw acting on the stage of life, 

Its harmonies beset with strife, 

And thus the revelation ran 

To teach the will of God to man. 

When vain ambitions seize the mind 
To human rights and justice blind, 
And loud its boastful voice resounds 
Amidst the scenes where vice abounds, 
What power can check the rising tide 
To evil sympathies allied ? 

See then a power behind the veil, 
With subtle force the power assail 
That boasting man has improvised — 
Beneath the forms of law disguised. 

The nation, whose sublimest boast 

Is freedom, spread from coast to coast, 

With slavery's toils in her embrace, 

The paradox she must efface, 

If still in her integrity 

Her flag shall wave from sea to sea. 

And when this issue shall be made, 
And might against the right's arrayed, 
Then vain pretension comes to grief; 
And truth and justice find relief 
In giving freedom to the slave, 
The state's integritv to save. " 



SWAN. 133 

While Lincoln mused upon this charge, 
He felt the force of truth enlarge; 
And wondering, raised his fixed eyes, 
When he beheld a new surprise: — 

A charm that he had seen before — 
The same that William, junior, bore 
To Swan — of Neenwateen, the child 
On whose chance lot had fortune smiled. 

The charm was as a voucher shown ; 
A reminiscence to make known 
The bearer of the message brought, 
Prophetic in reflective thought. 

It was a link from youth to age — 
A harbinger of good presage, 
With youth and age and heaven allied 
With liberty on virtue's side. 

And now the thoughts of boyish years 

Flew backward into time's arrears; 

A sweet but transient recompense 

For toiling- vears through time and sense, 

Through which, the nation's type he stood, 

In ill report as well as good. 

Now Swan his meditation broke, 
And thus in earnest accents spoke. 

" With your consent the spy I'll play 
Where hostile rebels stand at bay ; 
My Indian blood and swarthy face 
Will pass me free from place to place ; 
And I will counsel with the slaves 
To act the part of Indian braves 
Upon the tested battle-field, 
The sword of liberty to wield. 



13-i PERM ILL AS S Plli IT. 

This charm my ventured life will save, 
Till o'er the land your flag shall wave." 

Lincoln assented to the plan, 

And thence his dangerous work began. 

Again youth's scenes before them fly, 
As comes the parting word, "good-bye." 

Next came the night; when sleep repairs 
The toils of flesh, of mind the cares, 
When o'er the couch where Lincoln slept 
The spirit of Permilla crept. 

•Unfelt, she touched his sleeping brain, 
Then hied away to heaven again. 

Once more the sun proclaims the day, 
Reviving through the eastern gray ; 
A calm is on the troubled sea, 
And silence reigns along the lea, 
Impressive with a subtle power, 
Transcendent in the eventful hour. 

Emancipation is proclaimed ! — 

The shackles fall — the slave's unchained ! 

We'll now return to Wawbezee* 
His chances of success to see. 

The Union lines he passes through, 
And leaves behind the coats of blue ; 
Then throws his Union pass away, 
Lest he should meet the rebel gray. 

Next, in the hut he shelters safe, 
Where lies concealed the servile waif, 

* Swan, whose Indian name was Wawbezee, which latter he now 
assumed as a prudential measure. 



WAWBEZEE. 135 

Who, guided by the polar star, 
Creeps on to freedom's gates ajar. 

And here in this concealed recess 
In council sits, through war's duress, 
The bondman waiting for the day 
When they can join the hostile fray. 

For even then, their visions see 
The dawn of rising liberty 
Reflecting through the morning air, 
In answer to their earnest prayer; 
And freedom's virgin fires flame 
Within their hearts in Lincoln's name. 

Now further on Wawbezee goes, 
A spy among the rebel foes, 
Protected by the faithful slaves 
Whose councils held in dens and caves, 
In secret ponder on the hour 
When Lincoln, coming in his power, 
Shall raise aloft the magic wand 
To strike the fetters from each hand. • 

Wawbezee went from place to place ; 
His passport being Lincoln's face 
In tin-type miniature shown — 
Sacred to freedom's cause alone ; 
Among the colored race he saw 
Disciples of the higher law. 

This type was with a charm possessed ; — - 
The star of hope for the oppressed ; — 
The rising star of Bethlehem — 
Redemption's patriarchal gem. 

And who can wonder that the slave, 
Who only saw and felt to crave 



136 THE TIN-TTPE CHARM. 

What he had never called his own, 
Should improvise a vestal throne — 
In imagery, a vision sweet, 
With Lincoln in its sacred seat — 
The champion of the colored race, 
To raise them to their equal place 
Among the people of the earth, 
Above them by the rights of birth ? 

His tintype was a chaliced prize; 
An altar for a sacrifice ; 
A staff on which their hopes might lean 
In emblematic figure seen. 

And even o'er the ocean went 
The all prevailing sentiment 
Of reverence for Lincoln's face — 
The Moses of the colored race : 

Where, in the realms of savage sway, 
Far in the depths of Africa, 
His miniature is treasured there 
Incarnate — and with pious care.* 

*The following letter is here quoted to verify this: 

"Chicago, III., Aug. 27, 1SS0. 
Rufus Blanchard: 

Dear Sir, — Since you first informed me that you were writing a 
poem on Abraham Lincoln, I have been reminded of an incident, which 
shows in a peculiar and remarkable manner, the estimation in which that 
great emancipator is held among the barbarians; and illustrating in a 
way more eloquent than words can utter, the importance in the grand 
march of human progress of the one great and sublime act of his life. In 
1874 I was introduced at my office in this city to Mr. Nimrod Lancaster, 
a gentleman of character and veracity well known to some of our best 
citizens, and who now resides in the Black Hills. Mr. Lancaster is a 
great traveler; and has visited almost every portion of the known world. 
He had then just returned from Africa; and held in his possession a large 
quantity of diamonds (the same that were unlawfully seized that year in 
the New York custom-house, and so widely noticed by the press) which 
he had obtained in that country. In the course of his wanderings he had 
penetrated the most remote regions of that unexplored land ; and he stated 
that in every instance, among tribes that had never seen a white man ex- 
cept Livingston, they were familiar with the name of Lincoln, and many 



THE SOLDIER SLAVE. 137 

Now, in the depths of rebel wiles, 
Wawbezee's star of fortune smiles; 
The boys in blue are coming there, 
And " Hail Columbia" fills the air 
With martial notes of music flung, 
With Hallelujah, from each tongue. 

'Twas Sherman's army; — marching through, 
Clad in the all prevailing blue — 
Harmonious with the azure skies 
That, cloudless, greet our upturned eyes. 

When night had come his camp-fires blaze, 
As evening spreads her twilight haze; 
And Wawbezee sought Sherman's side, 
For his subsistence to provide. 

The password given, all was right ; — 
In counsel then, they spend the night; 
And Wawbezee enlists as scout, 
To pioneer him on his route 
Toward the broad Atlantic sea, 
Where stood at bay the enemy. 

The slave now in the Union field, 
The comma- issue is revealed : 
But still the valiant rebels fight 
As if their cause was just and right ; 
And challenge from their Union foes 
The praise that only courage knows. 

of them were in possession of his likeness; which consisted of small fer- 
rotypes such as were used in his presidential campaigns. These were 
treasured by their chiefs as the most sacred relics; and only exhibited on 
rare occasions. Mr. Lancaster said that he found this equally true of 
the liberated serfs of Russia; and both Africans and Russians could sing 
"John Brown;" each holding Lincoln in the same estimation in which 
Christ is held by christian nations. The foregoing is the substance of 
Mr. Lancaster's statement. Yours respectfully, 

D. H. Fletcher. 



138 THE SOLDIER SLAVE. 

But their unhappy lot is cast 
Among the shadows of the past, 
That vanish in a riper age, 
When progress marks the written page 
That runs with flying time abreast 
With Empire's star toward the West. 

And when the sacrifice is spent, 
And silent is each battlement, 
And every hostile gun is still 
That bristles from the tented hill, 
And homeward bound the soldiers go 
And leave behind a conquered foe, 
Then prouder yet the flag doth wave 
Above a land without a slave. 

And, " buried in oblivion deep 
Let all the transient vengeance sleep 
That flamed above a sense of riorht 
To fire the soldiers in the fight ; — " 
Said Lincoln, in the charity 
That God and angels best can see. 



CANTO XV. 

'Twas evening; — when the softened light 
Of stars was shining o'er the lea; 
And calm and peaceful as the night, 
Triumphant rose a sense of right 
When victory crowned the challenged fight 
In many a bloody revelry. 

'Twas evening; — when its sweet repose 

Invites the weary form to rest; 

And, in the strength that justice knows, 

A nation's grateful heart arose 

In silent force above its foes, 

To hush to peace each angry breast. 

'Twas evening; — when the watch-word 

spread, 
" Malice to none, and charity," 
Rest on the living and the dead, 
Who sleep on battle's gory bed, 
Till foul revenge and hate hath fled — 
While millions join the jubilee. 

'Twas evening;— when recoil so sweet 
Above the din of care unbends; 
When Lincoln turned his willing feet 
To revel in a glad retreat, 
And in a social group to meet 
In joyous fellowship his friends. 

139 



140 THE SACRIFICE. 

But while those evening shadows last. 
So gently flung upon the plain, 
Again the throes of death are cast ; 
Again revives the hostile blast, 
Revengeful of the bloody past, 
And Lincoln falls ! a victim slain ! — 

Then, trembling" on the magic wire, 
Throughout the land the tidings run ; 
And weeps afresh the aged sire, 
And pathos tunes the mellow lyre, 
And vengeance gleams from eyes of fire- 
Revenge ! Revenge ! the deed is done. 

Across the deep the tidings went, 
To peasant, prince, and royal king; 
And spread through every continent — 
How fell the martyr President, 
When carnage on the field was spent; 
And peace had made her offering. 

Then tolled the muffled funeral bell 
In every hamlet in the land — 
The honors of his life to tell — 
How in the cause of right he fell 
The victim of a fiendish spell — 
The victim of a vengeful hand. 

The willow sighing o'er his grave, 
And the perennial laurels bloom, 
Mark where the bravest of the brave — 
The champion of the servile slave, 
Who lived and died his land to save — 
Rests in his peaceful, honored tomb. 

Time may roll on his endless chain, 
And revolution spread her pall — 
Still, o'er his dust a calm refrain 



THE NATION'S SHRINE. 141 

Majestic there shall ever reign, 
Where rises on the grassy plain 
The monument that marks his fall. 

America, here is thy shrine ; — 
To be bequeathed to future years — 
A lignt from a^e to a^e to shine 
Illustrious in the oreat design, 
Which human nature, through divine, 
Hath hallowed by a nation's tears. 

Time's footprints write his eulogy, 
Recorded on its shining shore — 
That future millions yet to be, 
In passing by its rolling lea, 
May, on its livirtg tablet, see 
The fruits his inspiration bore. 

This monument that loyal hands have made 
Rises above his tenement of clay; — 
Ideal of the homage to be paid 
To thought and actions in the life displayed 
Of him whose will the golden rule obeyed 
(The TYPE and GENIUS of AMERICA). 



HISTORICAL WORKS 

OF 

RUFUS BLANCHARD. 



Historical Map of the United States, 

Showing early English, French and Spanish Discoveries and Explora- 
tions; also Forts, Towns and Battle-fields. Neatly mounted on cloth 
and folded in a Russia case for the library. Size of map 54 x 58 
inches. Price $8.00. 

The same mounted on rollers, for the use of High Schools and Colleges. 
Price $5.00. 



The Discovery and Conquests of the Northwest, 

With the History of Chicago. 768 pp. Octavo, cloth, $4.00. Half 
Turkey Morocco, $5.00. Full Russia, gilt top, $6.00. 



Discovery and Conquests of the Northwest, 

Including the early History of Chicago, Detroit, Vincennes, St. Louis, 
Fort Wayne, Prairie du Chien, Marietta, Cincinnati and Cleveland. 
515 pp. Octavo, cloth, red edges, $3.25. Leather, full bound, marbled 
edges, $3.75. Full Turkey Morocco, gilt edges, $5.50. 



Abraham Lincoln, the Type of American Genius, 

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
144 pp. Octavo, cheap edition in muslin, $1.00. The same in full 
Russia, gilt top, $3.00. The same on extra, paper, full Turkey 
Morocco, gilt edges, $5.00. 

Any of the above sent by express, or mail, on receipt of price. 

R. BLANCHARD & CO., 

Wheaton, III. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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